The Secrets we tell the Forest
by AcademySenseiIruka
Summary: Arthur gets drunk and talks to a tree. His life is changed forever by the events that follow. (Charthur slow burn)
1. Part 1 Chapter 1

Micah was being a dick (as usual) but fortunately for the brooding Arthur, the sniveling suck-up was nowhere in sight. Considering how drunk he was, it was for the best. Wouldn't want his smart mouth to insult Dutchy's new _fav-or-ite son! _Nah! woudn want that now would we.

Arthur swayed slightly as he lifted the jug and gulped down another healthy swig of moonshine. The liquid swashing around the almost empty bottle as he dropped it heavily to the ground.

And there he sat, drunk as a skunk, staring into the warm glow of the campfire. So naturally, the inebriated outlaw turned his attention to pondering human advancements and the "what ifs" of modern inventions. "Duuutch!" he called out, slurring the name as he saw the vague shadow of the vested man passing by. "If you flapped your arms really reeeally fast, you think we could fly to Tahiti like an air'o'plane?"

"Go to bed Arthur." was all he got from his father-figure, marching past... off to do something like scheme with _MICAH,_ probably.

The thought churned his stomach like alcohol.

Was a time when Dutch would've called him 'son', would'a laughed. Would'a stopped to sit with him, ask him if he was ok. Maybe even help him off to bed cause he was probably to unsteady to manage it on his own anyhow... but those days were over. He could feel it.

He sighed, these were thoughts too complex for his drunk mind to comprehend right now. Hell, they were probably too complex for him to comprehend sober. He laughed at his own self-deprecating humor like the drunken idiot he was.

He sat alone.

He drank more.

The fire had died to coals when he finally left for his tent. Scuffling forward he'd somehow managed to collide with the solid frame of a tree. At least he thought it was a tree. Just as well, he needed to piss anyways.

"Arthur, what are you..."

The drunk blinked up in surprise at the gruff voice of the tree. Maybe they could sell it? He immediately thought. Seemed like a good idea. Dutch could get a ton a moneh froma talkin tree. Maybe the lumber could talk to? Split it up. Make little baby talkin trees. Science can do wonderful things.

"What the hell are you going on about Arthur?" Perhaps he confused the tree, maybe that's not how little trees are made? Are there mommy and daddy trees?

"God, you smell horrible."

Not a very pleasant tree now was it?

"Ok, whatever you say you drunken fool." The tree laughed.

Wait, could trees read minds?

"You really think I'm a tree?" the tree said.

Arthur tried not to think. An easy task for him to do. He was testing his psychic tree theory.

"Alright, let's get you to bed."

What a thoughtful tree, it'd be a shame to chop it up.

The tree, already close from Arthur knocking into it, pulled him closer. It's branch-like arms wrapped around him and turned him in the opposite direction he was facing. "your tent is over here."

Head spinning from the turn, Arthur couldn't think of a reply so he just grunted.

"I hope you know I'm never letting you live this down." the tree gave an abrupt barked of laughter as Arthur stumbled, probably tripping over one of the trees god damn roots.

"don matter, you'll be kindlin come morning."

The tree laughed again, jostling Arthur with its jerky movements. He leaned further against its otherwise steady presence. There was something about it. Something familiar, something sure like the foundation of a massive monument. He found himself aching for something this steady in his life. Dependable, strong something he could lean on when the weight of the crumbling camp fell on his shoulders.

But no, he was alone. Just as much now as always was, like he was at the campfire.

"You're not alone." the tree said.

Arthur, ever the doubter according to _Dutch,_ remained in doubt.

The tent flaps parted as they entered his tent. At least he thought it was his tent. Nothing was really in focus anymore, what with it being so dark... and him so drunk.

He flopped down on his cot with an unceremonious plop. The swaying feeling of walking still swam in his head as the tree took off his boots.

Arthur closed his eyes as a blanket was tossed over him. It was all over. He had already lost everything. Dutch, Hoesa. Hell, he'd even managed to push John away. Fool may have deserved some of it but now Arthur was alone. Their time was over and he was going to die alone, he could taste it like bitter moonshine.

Arthur was too groggy to startle as a cool hand cupped his face."Good night Arthur." a disembodied voice said gently. But Arthur couldn't have cared less about talking shadows. Besides, he'd already met a talking tree that night.

* * *

The next morning had Arthur regretting all his life decisions.

His body ached and the current pounding in his head had never come close to being rivaled. Miss Grimshaw got some sick amount of glee by demanding, very loudly, he wash up. He'd never been manhandled by a woman before but after being slapped upside the head (with the sort of hangover he had) he was willing to admit defeat. Cause for this fight at least, he was outmatched.

Arthur curled into himself as he sat at the wooden table, nursing a glass of juice. Compliments of Abigail.

He looked up as a tin cup was set down in front of him. This time raw eggs. Hosea smiled knowingly. "tough night?" he asked.

"Something like that," he grunted, downing the eggs in one go before finishing off the juice just as quickly.

And he must have looked especially pitiful that morning since even Dutch came over. Something dark in his expression had Arthur flinching away.

A strange silence settled around them and for the first time since he had Joined up with them, Arthur felt like an outsider.

"So," Dutch began. "John said you had an eventful night last night."


	2. Part 1 Chapter 2

Oh god, Arthur thought, what did he do? He tried to recall last night. He'd gone hunting, robbed a stagecoach, yelled at Uncle for being a lazy useless drunk, confiscated his bottle of moonshine, drank a bit... Well, more than a bit if he was being honest. He drank a lot... and that's when things got a little fuzzy.

Well shit.

Arthur knew he was drunk last night, the hangover a dead giveaway but to be blackout drunk was not normal for him. He almost always remembered everything. He wasn't his father, a drunkard. He fused to be like him. Yet last night was just gone from his memory.

"Um," he began elegantly, "I'm sorry if I broke something. I'll fix it, pay for it whatever."

"You didn't break anything." Dutch replied looking angrily at Arthur.

Arthur paused under the glare, if he wasn't an angry drunk then maybe he was a mean drunk? Did he yell at Dutch? His face paled at the thought, eyes growing large and he opened his mouth to apologize but Dutch lifted a hand to silence him.

"You didn't yell at anyone either."

"Well, whatever ridiculous thing I did-"

"We're not here about any of that."

That made him stop short. What did he do? Not mean, not angry, not ridiculous enough for it to be mentioned first? Then the slow horror of what must have happened hit him. Oh GOD NO! He couldn't bear to look at Dutch any longer, his pride wouldn't allow it, so he turned to Hosea but the gentle sadness was all the confirmation he needed.

He groaned putting his head into his hands. He was a sad drunk, why couldn't he have been more like his father? "What did I say?"

"Well, it wasn't us you said it to." Hosea began. "You were talking to John and well, worried him quite a bit actually."

"Look." Arthur interrupted. "I was drunk, it was the rambling nonsense of-"

"Children and drunks are the most honest among us." Dutch corrected. Tho the anger from before seem to have dissipated some, he still had a stern clench to his jaw. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Ehh, last I remember is sitting at the fire."

"Anything about Tahiti?"

"What?"

"Nevermind, what's important is what John told us."

Embarrassment reared up and Arthur cast a look around for anyone eavesdropping. It was only then that he realized how empty the camp was. Micah, Javier, Charles, Sean, even Uncle were gone. He could see John tending to the horses but he only counted four of them.

When had Miss Grimshaw left? She was here this morning along with Pearson, Bill, Abigail and Jack but now it looked like they were gone as well.

He turned a bewildered look back to Dutch prompting a shrug and an explanation. "Decided everyone was due for a day of fun in town."

Arthur balked at the obvious lie. Uncle was with them.

"Alright, what is really going on, this an intervention? I get shit face drunk one time and you send everyone away?" his irritation masking a growing sense of insecurity, and insecurity quickly becoming twisted into outright fear. What if HE was the one they were sending away? As in, kicking him out permanently. Officially replacing him with Micah. "You all know I pull more than my own weight around here, do everything I can to keep things running smooth, keep people safe, happy and fed."

Dutch just looked at him unimpressed as he continued prattling on like a beggar asking for a job. Cause at this point that's what he was. "I bring in more money than anyone else, we could check the ledger right now if you don't believe me. I'm a damn good shot too, better than Micah by a mile and I've always had your back Dutch. Micah can't-" he stopped suddenly, knowing that the unchanged expression on Dutch's face meant he wasn't getting through.

He was openly panicking now, sweating and desperately searching for someway to convince them he should stay. "If this really has to do with John, then get his greasy ass over here!"

"Enough Arthur." Dutch growled. "This isn't about John or Micah, it's about you."

And honest to god, Arthur flinched. Flinched enough that even John over by the horses seemed to notice. He cast his eyes down in shame. "So, you've been thinking of getting rid of me for a while then?"

No one moved, no one breathed.

"Arthur." the word was whispered gently enough that it could have been from Abigail wishing Jack good night but it wasn't, it was Dutch of all people. "Arthur, look at me."

And after a breath to steady himself, he did.

He didn't know what Dutch saw when he looked at him but his face changed from sadness to pure grief. "Oh son," he said "I honestly didn't believe John until now. God Arthur. The things you said last night, you really believe them?"

When had Dutch gotten so close? They were face to face now. Warm hands reaching up to cup his face. "We aren't... Arthur, my boy, we are not getting rid of you. We are never going to get rid of you and we are not going to replace you with Micah. Or anyone else for that matter. YOU are MY son. You are OUR son." He corrected hastily, a quick glance at Hosea before returning to Arthur. "You are not alone, you are not going to die alone."

Dutch always had a way with words but this was a sharp shot to the heart.

He hiccuped an ill-suppressed sob and suddenly he was in Dutch's arms. Months of grief, stress and loneliness sprang to the surface and no amount of pride could shove the oncoming flood back. The dam was already burst open by a night of careless drinking.

"Go on son, let it out." Dutch whispered. "You haven't lost us, we are right here. Arthur..."

He sobbed like a child.

"Oh son, what can I do to make this better?"

He shook his head wishing some explanation would be forthcoming, but apparently he wasn't drunk and therefore couldn't express himself with words anymore.

"Get rid of Micah," John said coming up behind Dutch. "He's a toxin. He's changed the way the camp functions. He's changed us."

Dutch sighed irritably.

"I mean it Dutch, look at Arthur if you want proof."

"You think this is because I've been planning with Micah and not Arthur?" He challenged.

"It ain't simple Jealousy Dutch! You didn't see him last night. The man, I I can't explain it." his frustration clogging his thoughts. Perhaps John was also someone better equipt to explain things when drunk? "The man is bad karma, bad I don't know, bad something..."

"I agree with John." Hosea said. "Micah is a different sort of outlaw. Too reckless and it's not just youth. I know you owe him your life Dutch but look what he's done to your son. Micah isn't worth this. I say let him go."

Arthur scoffed at being called out so bluntly multiple times and pulled away from Dutch. He tried to act normal but between the crying, the hangover and his current emotional hell... he probably wasn't very convincing.

"I do owe him my life," Dutch growled, averting his gaze from Arthur as his anger rose back up. "I would have thought by now my family would see that, that MICAH can help us. He isn't so different than any of us."

"I don't know about that," John said stiffly. "Far as I can tell Micah is only good at making his plans sound good but they rarely ever turn out right."

By now Dutch was fuming. "Do you all feel like this?"

"I'm sure if we took a poll of the entire camp a large majority would agree." John continued.

Hosea leaned forward, kicking the char out for John to sit.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I'm fairly certain he killed Cain."

"You sure?" Dutch asked surprised.

Both John and Arthur nodded next to each other followed by Hosea when they made eye contact.

The table was silent.

"I need a smoke." Dutch groaned fishing out a cigar from someplace Arthur couldn't see cause his head was dipped low enough it almost touched the table.

"Well then, lets put it to a vote." Dutch prompted. "All in favor of Micah staying say aye."

More silence.

"All in favor of him leaving."

"aye."

"aye."

"aye."

"... aye." Dutch said somewhat forlorn and Arthur snapped his head up to look at him. Surprised to find him looking right at him with a wistful little smile. "If this is what it takes to make you all happy, then so be it."

The sheer amount of relief that flashed through him was so transparent it made Dutch laugh.

"Are you feeling better Arthur?" Dutch asked.

From a health perspective, he still felt like horse shit but everything else... "Yeah Dutch, I'm fine."


	3. Part 1 Chapter 3

***ONE MONTH LATER***

Arthur pulled his leather jacket tighter as he coughed dryly into the lapels, his horse walking slowly up the grassy path back to camp.

It was going be a very cold night and after such a long day of running errands, Arthur was trying to decide whether or not he had sufficient energy to dig through his things and find his winter coat. (The fluffy one he hadn't needed since just after Blackwater) Or if he should just dump everything he owned on top of him and go to sleep under a pile of dirty laundry. Miss Grimshaw be damned.

"Who is it?" Bill's distinctive voice asked from the shadows.

"It's Arthur, ya moron!"

Bill chuffed or laughed, Arthur couldn't tell. "Stay warm out their tonight." he cautioned as they passed, receiving a brief wave for his concern.

Arthur was surprised to find the camp quite busy as he rode in, seeming to only catch the attention of Charles who immediately came trotting over to assist him.

He greeted Arthur with a brief nod, rubbing gloved hands together for a last second or two of warmth before chilled, clumsy fingers, set to untying the blankets and other supplies.

Brisk wicked wind whisked around them, flapping cloth and tent polls alike.

Arthur was glad to be back, this was not a day for travel. Too much of the sun's warmth was hiding behind dark ominous clouds.

An especially harsh gust of wind blew in and knocked over a few empty crates, the domino effect sent the corner of a tent flapping wildly. Tipping his hat and ducking his head into the blast, Arthur happened to see John rushing over with a rope while Dutch yanked the cloth back into place.

"It been like this all day?" Arthur asked, hauling a saddlebag over his shoulder.

"Pretty much. It's rained some off and on but mostly it's the wind that's been wreaking havoc on everything. We've had to rearrange the camp a bit since most of the tent polls couldn't handle the wind. Everyone's been moved into two makeshift tents. The women in one, the men in the other."

Charles nodded in the direction of the two large frankein-tents. Each side appeared to be a collection of tarps, the largest tarps Arthur recognized as belonging to Dutch and the Marstons, had become the roof. The walls were roped down and secured in place and fortified by various crates, boxes and heavy barrels.

Arthur and Charles each clutched a bundle of woolen blankets as they made their way to the mound of tarps in the center of camp.

"Everyone decent?" Charles called as they approached.

"As decent as we'll ever be." Karen answered with a cheery shout.

"Oh, hush up you drunken fool." Miss Grimshaw chided opening the tent slightly.

"We come bearing gifts." Arthur said with a rye smile. "Warmth and food."

"Alcohol?" Karen asked as they entered.

"Ah'course." Arthur answered with a widening grin, tho he made sure to pass that particular goodie off to Miss Adler. Who promptly hid it behind Miss Tilly.

"Well in that case what the hell are you waiting for?" Karen hollered, unaware of the exchange.

Miss Grimshaw pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Karen, a clear sign for Arthur and Charles to make a hasty exit. He gave a polite nod to little Jack as they left, good luck kid. he thought. your gonna need it.

Returning to the horse the two unloaded the last of the supplies, medicine and more blankets.

As they entered the men's tent, Arthur noticed it was a bit bigger than the other, which he was quietly thankful for since he didn't relish the idea of sharing the limited floor/bed space with Uncle. The inebriated fool was already tipsy, plopped in a corner complaining to Person about his lumbago acting up... again.

Arthur just rolled his eyes and stretched his aching arms, preparing to brave the bitter chill once more.

"Arthur." He heard Hosea's gentle voice call before he stepped outside. "How are you feeling my boy?"

"Go on," Charles coaxed "I'll tend to the horses." and he was gone before Arthur could turn back to face him.

If Arthur wasn't so exhausted he would have gone after him but he was so he didn't. Instead, he settled for a gracious "thank you." that he hoped reached his friend's ears before making his way over to Hosea.

The old con sat on a chair with his legs up on a crate, lamp-lit beside him with a book propped open in his lap.

"I'm feelin just Fine Hoesa." He assured the old codger, taking a seat on the floor. He leaned against a heavy crate and took the opportunity to stretch his long legs while he still had the room to do it. The resulting sigh was deep enough that it turned into a yawn.

"Are the roads as cold as out little camp?"

"Colder, didn't have the benefit of trees on some roads to block the wind."

"Have you eaten?"

"not yet, I-"

"Good, Pearson made a relatively good Beef and Bean stew for supper, you should try it."

"I even saved you some." Pearson piped up. "I think there are some good coals left, I'll go heat it." Arthur figured Pearson's sudden enthusiasm had more to do with avoiding Uncle rather than actual pride in his food. Reheating food for one was just something they didn't bother with but he didn't argue.

Bill, Javier and Reverend Swanson came in soon after. Each tucking their arms tight to their frozen bodies.

"How can it be so cold without snow on the ground?" Reverend Swanson complained.

"I knew we should have headed south." Javier agreed.

Arthur smiled absently as he watched them huddle together in solidarity. All voicing their support of Dutch's Tahiti plan.

He hadn't noticed how blurred his thoughts had become until he was woken up by a warm bowl being placed into his hands.

"Better eat it while it's still warm." Pearson suggested walking away.

Looking up Arthur realized the entire male contingent of the camp was now occupying the entire tent. Arthur surveyed the group quietly between mouthfuls of... well, actually quite good stew.

John sat across the tent form him on the floor laughing at something Dutch was saying. Bill was off guard duty and listened with Javier to every word Dutch was saying. They sat on crates as he stood above them, regaling them with some story. His arms waving in the telling, probably a wild tale of a daring hist he had been in. No doubt embellished with the famous Van Der Linde charisma.

Reverand Swanson, Kieran, Sean and Straus were all playing poker. Didn't seem to be going very well for Straus.

Pearson, Hosea and Lenny were gabbing about something. Charles whittled on a piece of wood, offering the occasional comment here and there, not too far from where Arthur sat.

Behind him, Arthur could hear the girls tent. A silvery laugh that sounded like Mary-Beth or Molly, rang through the air like a song and a chorus of giggles followed after a brief silence.

Then a snort, probably from Karen, followed by more laughter.

Arthur leaned his head back on the crate and took in the sights and sounds of contentment surrounding him. A happiness that had been absent since before Blackwater had somehow found refuge with the little bunch of undeserving outlaws. He marveled at how far they had come and how close they had become.

Arthur didn't remember when he last felt so at home, so safe. Perhaps it was when he still had Isaac and Eliza?

He opened his eyes again, not sure when he had closed them, this time to see John making his way towards him through the crowded tent. A concerned scowl across his face.

"How'r you doning?" he asked, sitting heavily beside Arthur.

"Fine." he answered, and John raised a questioning eyebrow in response, "Just thinking. Thinking about what we have." he gestured to the room as a whole. "We'd been running from everyone, O'Driscoll's, Pinkertons but once Micah left... I don't know, it's like-" he fumbled for the right words.

"Well, for one thing, we aren't fucking up our jobs anymore," Hosea added, joining the conversation abruptly. "That's for damn sure."

Uncle nodded sagely as tho he had somehow contributed to that improvement.

"Things have become calmer around camp." Charles said after a moment. "we are more at peace I think."

"Yeah." Person supplied off-handedly. "Overall, camp moral is the highest it's been in a long time." he quickly looked up at Dutch as if realizing what he'd said. "I- I'm not saying Micah leaving and the camp moral boost are related."

"Yeah," Arthur mumbled under his breath, "Just like the Aberdeens."

"The who?" asked John.

"You don't want to know."

Fortunately for Pearson, Dutch was too occupied with the conversation going on between him, Bill and Javier to notice, and possibly take offense to his comment.

Tho Arthur doubted he would have. Dutch had recovered surprisingly quickly from the loss of Micah, especially considering how much he had defended the man in the past. Then again, Dutch had a tendency to fixate on things and get passionate about projects. Perhaps that's all Micah ever was, just a passing project? Now left behind, abandoned and forgotten.

In the back of Arthurs mind, he wondered if that's all he was too.

A brief nudge from his brother brought him out of the morose thoughts. John had been doing that more and more lately. Actually, they all had. Dutch, Hoesa even Charles was observant enough to figure out what was going on and joined in. This time the subtle touch was disguised as taking the bowl from his hand but Arthur was growing too accustomed to the well-timed interventions to see them as other than what they were. A way to keep him from diving too deeply into the darkest corners of his own mind.

Arthur still wasn't completely sure what he had said to John that night in the woods, drunk out of his mind but whatever happened had been taken seriously by those he considered family. And for that he was grateful.

But the day's travel was quickly catching up with him again and despite how lively the room was, he knew he wasn't going to stay awake much longer. But just being here, in this moment, made him feel very fortunate. Even as he tipped his hat down over his eyes the voices somehow got quieter. A woolen blanket was pulled over him triggering a vague memory of something similar yet different. He remembered something, something from a different time and place... the same situation yet so different. In a camp where he didn't belong. But this one, this one he did.


	4. Part 1 Chapter 4

The main difference between sad drunk Arthur and happy drunk Arthur is in the volume. If he's happy he will shout yell and sing... even dance if he really gets into it. Sad drunk Arthur gets quiet and mistakes John Marston for the forest and tries to pee on him... then forgets about it.

So needless to say, John much prefers a happy drunk Arthur.

"I just can't believe I told you all that. I musta been drunk outa my mind." Arthur moaned sitting next to his brother on the edge of the firepit.

He was drunk, much like he had been months ago. Tho this time he was in a much better mood.

John's mouth twitched up like he was trying not to smile.

"What?" Arthur demanded.

"You thought I was a tree."

"Pardon?"

"A tree," John's voice pitched up high around a laugh as he passed the square bottle back to Arthur. "Woulda pissed all over me if I hadn't stopped you." Marston was clearly trying his level best to stifle his laughter but it was no use as the next breath caused a huff of laughter to sprang free. "You wanted to chop me up and make baby trees."

Recovering from his initial shock, Arthur roared a laugh of his own that only encouraged John.

John tried to drink from the bottle that was no longer in his hand before continuing. "Also thought baby trees came from mommy and daddy trees."

"God no." Arthur took a fresh swig before swaying back into John. Their shoulders brushing as John plucked the bottle from Arthur's grasp. "Wait a minute," Arthur said dazed, trying to find the bottle... "where do baby trees come from?"

John's laughter stopped abruptly allowing his last brain cell to consider his brothers' question. "I don't know..." After a half second of serious eye contact they both erupted in loud joyous laughter at their joint confusion. Both leaning heavily enough on each other that they were both in danger of toppling over.

"You also thought I was psychic." John continued, dowing the last of the alcohol.

"You shut up right now."

"You thought you could sell me and my babys for a profit."

"You tell anyone this and I will kill you." Arthur threatened gruffly, only half serious. Then he froze. "You didn't tell the others about THIS part did you?"

"Only Hosea."

"Damn it John." Arthur growled behind a large grin. "Wait a minute, if Hosea already knows... then maybe he knows where baby trees come from?"

John slapped Arthur on the leg, or he tried to but ended up brushing his knee. "That is a great, i-idea Arthur. Let's go fin-"

"HOSEA!" Arthur hollered. His voice rang clear and loud as it pierced the night. "Hosea, Jon has a question fro ya!"

Unfortunately for Arthur it was Mis Grimshaw that marched over to greet them. John snickering as drunk Arthur's mind caught up to his drunk mouth.

"Er, ello Mis Grim-"

"Save it!" She snapped hastily. "I know you boys have been working extra hard to make up for the absence of Mr. Bell but people are trying to sleep."

"We didn't mean nothin by anything." Arthur replied, reasonably certain that made sense.

"It's alright Susan." Hosea said leaving the shadows and walking into the glow of the firelight. "It's been ages since they've taken a break like this and I think it's long overdue. Pay them no mind, please."

"Naw." John balked. "You Just want to see Arthur try to pee on me again."

Hosea chuckled taking a seat as Mis Grimshaw turned to leave, tho not before giving a rather disturbed glance to Arthur. He smiled in a way he hoped was innocent.

"So John, what can I help you with?"

John traded a blank look with Arthur. "I... need help?"

"Dearly." Hosea said under his breath. "I mean, what was your question?"

"Um... Trees, Where do baby trees come from?"

"From seeds you dumb ass."

"So are all trees boys or girls?"

"Well, floral trees reproduce with pollen and-"

"Dear god, you're not seriously giving them the 'trees and the bees' talk are you?" Dutch looked amused but also thoroughly gobsmacked at what he was seeing. "Not when they are both three sheets to the wind."

"Figured last time we missed quite a show."

"I knew it." John stage whispered to Arthur who nodded and then puked.

"See." Dutch gestured "I think it's time to call in a night boys."

"Oh all right." Hosea consented. "Wich one do you want to tuck in?"

"I'll take Arthur, you take John?" they nodded in agreement before wandering around the fire to their chosen drunkard.

"Come on son, up you go." Dutch said. And it was the warmest thing Arthur had heard in a long time. Like a favorite song being sung by a favorite singer come back from the dead.

"Ok, Dutchy."

"Boy are you drunk."

Arthur chuckled. Dutch was back, his family was back. After so long of being terrified it was gone forever, the camp was back to how it should have been.

Arthurs' head lulled to the side, his neck apparently giving up on him, and rested at Dutches' collar. Dutch for his part didn't seem to notice or at least didn't shove him off. A few steps further and Arthur recognized his tent.

He was set down gently and then, Dutch was gone.

Arthur teetered there at the edge of his cot as his thoughts swiftly grew dark. What he had done wrong? Perhaps he had misread Dutch, perhaps his mentor was actually angry with him over how drunk he was? What if Dutch thought he was becoming like Uncle?

He grunted angerly, pulling at his boots, only succeeding in getting one to pop off before knocking himself over.

"What are you doing?"

Arthur turned to see Charles and Dutch standing in the entry of his tent, both holding metal cups.

"I was trying to get my boots off." He said wiping a stray tear from his face. "Now I can't get up."

Dutch shook his head as Charles crossed the small tent, set his cup on the table and crouched down to help Arthur into an upright sitting position. Then he reached back and offered one of the cups to Arthur. "Drink, you need to stay hydrated."

"It'll also get rid of that vomit taste in your mouth." Dutch added.

Arthur looked up, surprised at the gentle smiles he received. Not just from Dutch but also Charles. He was unaware of his own blush as he drank. Maybe Dutch wasn't mad at him? Maybe he was just being foolish?

"I'm not mad at you Arthur." Dutch said.

"And you're not foolish." Charles assured, handing him the second cup before Arthur realized he had finished the first. Arthur smiled gratefully in return.

With both cups quickly drained, Dutch and Charles helped him to bed. His eyes closed as he felt a warm hand brush his hair gently.

"Sleep well Arthur."... and he did.


	5. Part 2 chapter 1

"I'm Afraid you've got Tuberculosis."

Arthur's head pounded to the rhythm of those words. The doctors back turned to him. Perhaps giving him privacy as Arthur slowly began to comprehend the gravity of those words.

He left Saint Denis in a daze. His body shuddering under the convulsing strain of his coughing. He was only partially aware that he was headed toward camp, mind shut off, only working off muscle memory.

A stranger cursed at him. Yelled something he didn't quite catch but it rolled off him like water on glass.

"God Arthur, I almost shot you." Lenny was saying. When had he made it back to camp? "Why didn't you answer me?"

"what?"

"When I asked who it was just now?" The boy stood next to his boot, gun at the ready, brow pinched in concern. "Arthur, are you ok?"

"Eh, yeah." he lied, a well-established reflex kicking in. "Just tired is all." He ignored the scowl as he maneuvered his horse to the hitching post.

He swung his leg down and was about to turn to his tent when a sentimental part of him automatically pulled out a brush and began cleaning his "best girl". He cooed at her as he gently patted her between strokes. She nickered in appreciation, preening at the attention.

He felt numb as he pulled out an oatcake. Velvety lips teased the edges of the cake experimentally before it was happily excepted. "Good girl" he whispered, then he turned back to his tent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenny still watching him. Puzzled expression cast over his shoulder.

Arthur ignored it.

He felt ten years older and 70 pounds heavier climbing into his rickety old cot. He tossed his hat on the nightstand and waited for sleep to come.

But it didn't.

He watched as dawn slowly crept in. Morning light casting shadowy patterns from tree branches, waving gently on the ceiling of his tent.

He coughed again. Chest burning, a painful reminder of what he'd just been told.

White death, consumption, Tuberculosis. He was dying.

He listened to the sound of the waking camp. The chickens clucking, the rustling of the leaves, someone snored. A pot was knocked over and a newspaper was opened. Gravely footsteps began passing from one end of the camp to the other and soft voices were peppered intermittently through it all.

Finally, he slept.

He dreamt of a golden deer grazing in tall grass. It lazily flicked an ear before lifting its head and stared at him. Dark eyes assessing, judging. Arthur stared back. There was something troubling about the exchange. He didn't know what but... There was a kindship their. A sort of bond that made him worry over the fragile life before him.

He knew first hand how easy they were to kill. How many of them had he skinned? Or hauled their limp carcass on the back of his horse to be consumed or sold? An inexplicable fear for the sake of this creature filled him.

The deer blinked and gracefully turned towards the woods. The labyrinth of trees hiding it from view.

Arthur chased after it. He followed it's path but the deer was gone. He searched for more tracks but he found nothing.

A gunshot rang out and he frantically chased after the sound.

He woke up wheezing loudly, bolting upright desperately trying to force air into his lungs. Not even enough air to make a propper chough. It took him several heart-stopping moments before he settled down.

But it didn't matter. This was going to kill him one day and he'd deserved it. He thought about all the lives he had ruined and destroyed. The world would be better off without him. He'd leave nothing good behind.

When a cup was pushed in front of him he realized how dazed he still felt. The world quickly came into focus as he saw Abigail kneel down in front of him.

"Are you alright Arthur?" She asked hesitantly.

"Um, yeah." he looked down at the cup and whispered his tanks as he took it.

"Heard ya coughing. Thought you were going to get that looked at."

He sipped the cool water. "Yeah, just haven't had the time."

"Johns worried about ya, so is Dutch but the bastards won't come out and say it."

He smiled noting the absence of mentioning Hosea. HOSEA had been very vocal in his concern for Arthur. At one point Arthur caught him trying to talk Dutch into abducting a local doctor. It was then that he promised to go get looked at in Saint Denis... he was regretting that now.

"Arthur?"

"I'm fine Abigail, thanks for asking but I should get going."

She stood up with him to help him but he shrugged her off. "Alright Arthur, but John and Dutch ain't the only ones worried over you."

"Thank you for the water Abigail."

And he left. He planned to make himself scarce in the following few days. He needed time to wrap his head around what was happening before he could spend much time with people who knew him so well. Apparently, he was rattled enough that people were already talking. He didn't know what the rumors were yet but they couldn't be worse than the truth.

He tried not to attract attention as he carried out a few chores and discreetly gathered some provisions. He gave Javier and Bill a wide birth as they chatted with Uncle and Lenny at the fire. Tilly and Mary-beth were in an argument with Miss Grimshaw so they were easy enough to avoid on a good day, and Dutch and Hosea kept to themselves in Dutches tent. All seemed normal, no one would notice his absence.

That is until John Marston saw him.

Dam.

He growled under his breath wishing he had left sooner.

"You alright their Arthur?"

"Wish people would quit askin me that-" his complaint probably would have carried more weight if he hadn't broken off into a hacking wet cough.

"You get that looked at yet?"

"I will." he wheezed angerly before storming over to his horse. "Now leave me the hell alone John."

"Look, whatever is troubling you, just tell someone. It doesn't have to be me. Just someone, anyone, just get it out in the open." John said, his voice laced with the hint of begging.

Arthur pretended to ignore him as he tacked up his horse but eventually it gave way under the weight of his brother's concern tugging on his conscience.

"John I'm fine."

"a-course you are, you always are. Can't let the great Arthur Morgan be human for a goddam second!"

It probably would have set John at ease for him to turn around and yell back. To fight him. Anything, but he was so drained. His bones ached, a low fever made his body feel chilled no matter how many jackets he wore or blankets he put on.

"M fin Jon." he slurred climbing up in the saddle.

He tried to avoid Johns face as he left but saw it anyway. The unapologetic sadness and worry made Arthur feel like an absolute asshole. Something in his eyes pleaded for Arthur to turn back but he couldn't.

Arthur had originally figured, with more time, he could tell them but apparently, the reverse was true.

With the weight he'd gradually lost over the past few months and the pallor of his skin, he could guess some of them already knew. They just wanted the confirmation from him.

He roamed aimlessly out of camp, thinking on Johns words. "just get it out in the open."

Perhaps John had a point. Perhaps if he did he'd feel better and then it would be easier to face the truth. Looking around he didn't see anyone but the forest. He thought of the deer in his dream and took a deep breath.

"I'm... I, ok, I ain't good at this kinda thing but here goes." The trees seemed to soak up his words and he egged his horse forward gently. "I, I went to a doctor. He looked down my throat, said I got TB. Guess I, well I ain't-a saint, I'm not saying I don't deserve this but things were finally settled." a lump swelled in his chest "Micah is gone, Dutch is back to normal and, I just. I don't wanna leave them. We're happy... I'm happy."

Tears threatened to fall but he chased them off with a few stiff blinks. "Stupid John," he groused. "this was a shit idea." Nothing had changed. Then again, what had he been expecting? Relief? Some miracle to ease his troubled soul? What right did he have to expect peace? He was nothing but a degenerate outlaw.

He felt a renewed disgusted with himself as he kicked his horse forward and left the camp behind, never seeing the guard hidden behind one of the trees, watching him as he left.


	6. Part 2 Chapter 2

Arthur had spent days rehearsing what he was going to say. How he would say it, who he would say it to... Mentally sorting through every eventuality and outcome. He spent several more days working out what he should do after that. Should he leave so as not to infect the others? Or stay and make sure everyone had everything they needed? And every day he was away from camp, Arthur considered who he should give his most prized possessions to.

Hosea would get his journal, John would get his hat and Dutch would get his guns. It seemed poetic somehow. That in some unspoken way, they already had a claim on those items.

Hosea had been the one to give him the journal in the first place. His attempt to inspire and encourage a hopeless boy outlaw. His way of letting Arthur know his voice mattered, that he was of importance, someone worthy of being recorded. That he wasn't just a gun. Now that it was filled with his thoughts and drawings, there was a symmetry in leaving it to Hosea. Tho Arthur didn't express himself in words quite as well as Hosea may have hoped, Arthur's secret drawings showed a bit of how he saw the world, what he valued and who he loved. and perhaps even proved that Hosea was right, that Arthur did have more to offer.

John would have his father's hat. Arthur smiled to himself at the memory of a 14-year-old John trying to steal it off his head at random. Though Arthur didn't appreciate it at the time, he knew now John did it to provoke a reaction. His dumbass way of getting attention. But the direct correlation was glaringly obvious as the more time Arthur spent with John, the less likely he was to have the boy take his hat. A day or two of fishing would keep his hat safe for a solid week. Sometimes, when Arthur was feeling like a mischievous child himself, he'd hold off on a fishing trip just to test how fast and how creative John could be in getting the hat from him.

And Dutch, well, Dutch had always had his guns... it was fitting he be able to permanently keep them as his own.

Arthur spent another full week coming to grips with his own fate. Tho he still grew angry with himself as he thought of Thomas Downs, the source of how he had contracted TB. But the restlessness within him was dying down, making way for eventual acceptance... tho admittedly, he still hadn't reached that point yet.

It was reaching the three-week mark when he decided he had stalled as much as he possibly could. It still wasn't enough time for his liking... especially to return without something of value. But he needed to return home and tell them the truth.

He owed them that much.

He felt the tension of the bow as he drew it back.

The buck, unaware it was being watched, silently nibbled on a bit of tree bark. Arthur took note of its smooth features. The innocent dark eyes, bright and young.

He aimed for the head.

Hesitated.

He thought back to the dream. The golden deer, serene and peaceful, content in a way Arthur had never know. Then it made eye contact and Arthur felt like it was an extension of his soul. His spirit looking back at him. It unnerved him, rattled him but also soothed him.

Frustration and guilt rising to the forefront, he dropped the bow with a weighted huff. He hadn't been able to bring himself to kill a deer since his dream and it seemed nothing had changed. So he settled for a ram.

It was mid-morning when he finally made it back to camp. Everything looked normal but he himself felt far from normal. He was bone weary and weak.

"Welcome back Arthur." Tilly greeted as she did the laundry.

"Morn Mis Tilly." He tried to sound like his usual enthusiastic self but it just came out breathy and labored.

"You alright there Arthur?"

God, not this again he thought "Yeah, I'm..." he trailed off. It was all too easy to fall back into old habits. He swallowed hard. "Um, where's Dutch, I mean, he in?"

"I think he's talking to Strauss by Pearson's cart."

Arthur nodded his thanks and heaved the large ram over his shoulder. He struggled beneath its weight. It shouldn't be that heavy but it was. Perhaps the toll of his sickness was greater than he realized?

Arthur pushed the thought aside and made his way over to the three gentlemen. He rounded the tent and saw Dutch and Strauss had their backs to him, too embroiled in their own conversation to notice his approach. Pearson on the other hand, straightened up as he drew near. Something like relief flashed across his features.

"Pearson" Arthur greeted with a quiet rasp. He coughed a few times to loosen his throat before he began again. "I brought back a ram. Hope there's something you can do with it." He dropped it heavily beside the wagon.

Pearson beamed and opened his mouth to express his usual appreciation but was cut off by Dutch.

"Is that all you brought back?" Dutches words were quiet but held an underlying strain that promised vengeance.

Arthur cautiously turned to meet the barely concealed rage of Dutch. His eyes burned and mouth twitched. Anger so thoroughly engrossing that it must have been simmering for a long time. Arthur, unfortunately, must have inadvertently been the last straw.

He cursed mentally. How had he managed to misread the tense atmosphere that horribly?

"Ah, that's all I..."

"You mean, after weeks of being away... all you bring back is a ram?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strauss slowly slink away. Wise move on his part.

"Arthur!" Dutch roared like a dam bursting open. " A single ram? When the camp is starving and in desperate need of money, you bring back a single ram?!

"I..." Arthur began, as elegant as John in a lake.

"I need you to quit gallivanting around, going god knows where doing god knows what, when everyone else is working! I sent Micah away because you asked me to and THIS is what I get in return? We need money!"

The words were as harsh as a gunshot. "No Dutch, I just wanted... to tell you..."

"Well WHAT Arthur? "

Arthur looked at Dutch. Really looked at him. He had circles under his eyes, his skin was gaunt and sickly. He wasn't well. His fist shook like he was barely able to hold himself back from clocking Arthur good. Like he deserved.

Arthur knew he couldn't fully comprehend the weight of leadership Dutch carried with him at all times. It wasn't his job. It was his job to ease that burden, and selfishly, he had abandoned his duties. Not just to the gange but to Dutch.

A suffocating shame welled up within him. He had failed spectacularly.

"I wanted to, to... tell you I found a, a... treasure map. Think there's real gold on the other end." God he hoped there was real gold, otherwise it would be better for everyone if he just didn't come back.

But the promise of money caused Dutch to relax, if for a moment. His clenched fists eased open and his shoulders drooped subtly. Not enough for the others to notice, but Arthur was right in front of him.

"Good" Dutch said. His words dripping with a false bravado that normally wouldn't have been noticed. Dutche's facade of control was crumbling and the underlying struggle was shining through. Arthur felt an extra twinge of guilt.

And in that moment he resolved to never tell Dutch or anyone the truth. He would work hard from now on. He'd give everything he could to his family. Giving his last full measure of devotion.

A calmness fell over him as he finally excepted his fate fully.

He reached his arm out and gently laid in on Dutches shoulder. The contact startling Dutch into genuine confusion but Arthur offered up a warm smile in response. "It's ok Dutch, you'll work it out. You always do." His words were sincere but also felt a bit like a farewell.

Turning back to his horse he kept his head up high. His family was suffering, struggling, it wasn't a new concept to outlaws but Arthur was seeing things differently now. It was unavoidable, he was going to leave them. But at the very least he could use the last time he had to ease that suffering. There was so much work to be done. He needed to take care of those he loved.

"Arthur?" Lenny asked as he climbed up in the saddle. "You're not going to say for supper? It's almost-"

"Naw Lenny. I've got some work to do. Catcha later then." He tipped his hat. A warm smile graced his face but his blue eyes held a well of sadness.

Lenny watched him go.

"Something's off with him." he said absentmindedly.

"So you've noticed too?" Charles said coming up beside him.

Charles had been gone off and on about as much as Arthur had. Tho he wasn't bringing in the large game he used to. Lenny really didn't know what Charles had been up to these past few weeks but Dutch seemed to view his constant absence as one less mouth to feed so he never voiced a complaint as long as Charles still brought in the occasional funds.

Lenny looked at Charles who focused on Arthur as he disappeared like smoke through the trees.

"Lenny, I'll need your help with a job. If you're interested."

"Sure what is it?"

Charles nodded walking over to Taima. "Once we leave camp I'll tell you."

They swiftly tacked up their horses in silence. Charles was never a verbose person but this was different. He looked, worried. As they left camp they kicked up into a gallop, passed the railroad tracts and turned east.

"Alright," Lenny said breaking the silence. "what's the job?"

"We need to get something from Saint-Denis." Charles low voice murmured.

"Um, ok. Sure what is it?"

"The cure for TB."


	7. Part 2 Chapter 3

Arthur pulled himself up the narrow incline of the steep cliffside. The drop below was perilous but according to the map, ahead of him was gold. He struggled to maintain his footing when a rough cough caused a dizzy spell and for a moment he feared he would teeter over the edge. Eventually, his breathing calmed and he crouched down to reach into a crack on the underside of the cliff.

His fingers brushed dirt and stone, gliding blindly across the surface until he bumped into cold smooth metal. He pulled the object out to find a gold bar. Worth about 500, going by the size and weight. He checked the crevices for more bars but only found the one.

As he made his way back to his horse he scowled at the small treasure. 500 was nothing in the long run. He needed something bigger. An amount that would stabilize the gang for a long time. He only knew of one place to get that kind of money and only one person he could trust to help him get it. He nudged his horse forward and galloped away from the setting sun.

* * *

"How long have you know?" Lenny asked watching the flames of the campfire leap up into the night sky. A sharp crackle of wood sent sparks climbing up into the air like they could disappear into the heavens and become stars.

"I overheard Arthur talking about it just before he left camp. Before he was gone for almost a month."

"Any chance you misheard him?"

Charles shook his head and added another log to the fire. "I've been traveling around looking for cures ever since. Treatments facilities, that kind of thing. In all my searching the most promising is going to be in Saint-Denis but only for a few days." Charles sighed, doubt seeming to cloud his thoughts.

"And?" Lenny encouraged.

"And, it's a German scientist named Robert Koch. He's doing a demonstration in the city to prove he's cured TB."

"A lot of people have made claims like that. Charlatans every one of them. And the treatments turned out to be more deadly than the disease. What makes this guy so special?"

"Well for one, his research helped cure polio and anthrax. He, well he claims he's cured TB."

"He sounds promising," Lenny said tentatively "But judging by your reluctance and lack of excitement, I'm guessing there's more you aren't telling me."

Finally Charles looked over to Lenny. His dark features lit in the warm glow and a spark of fire caught in his eyes. Lenny realized that despite how quiet Charles was, in truth, he was livid. "He's the best chance we have and he was chased out of Europe for saying he had a cure for TB, when he didn't. If the man is a fraud, then Arthurs fate won't change. If he isn't, then we can cure him."

Lenny swallowed dropping his gaze.

"And if he is a fraud." Charles continued. His low voice filled with righteous vitriol "Then he's the worst kind of man. He's thrived off the desperation of the sick and suffering. Gained fame and fortune from their pain. Exploited their loved ones and given false hope with his lies."

His words hung in the air, heavy and forlorn. Lenny said nothing, just silently contemplated the likelihood that a cure simply didn't exist. That they were chasing unicorns. That Arthur really was going to die.

"Alright, what's the plan?" He said after a moment.

"Well, I doubt we can afford the cure, fake or not. But he's coming to Saint-Denis to do a demonstration. I say we do exactly what Hosea had suggested months ago."

"What's that?"

"We kidnap the doctor. If he admits he doesn't have a cure, then we do the world a favor and we kill him. If he does, then we bring him back to camp, cure Arthur and the doctor will have the benefit of a happy customer before we let him go."

* * *

"Mister Morgan. How lovely to see you again."

The blond sheepishly averted his gaze. Sister Caldéron was rather fond of the gruff cowboy. He had a tough air about him. Something wild and hard, yet the smallest genuine compliment would disarm him quite effectively. Like a wolf enjoying a scratch behind the ears.

"Do you, um. Have a moment? I kinda have a favor to ask. If you'd be willing that is."

"Of course Mister Morgan." She said and ushered him to a nearby wooden bench. The air was brisk despite the hot day. It's soothing breath refreshing to the soul and despite Arthurs sudden cough, it seemed to be good for him.

They sat for a moment. Arthur twiddled his thumbs as he searched for the right words.

"Take your time Mister Morgan."

He smiled wearily. "Time," he whispered solemnly. "Time is not something I have much of anymore, Sister." She studied him as he leaned back and winced. Hand coming up to rub at his chest.

He looked up at her. His eyes, bloodshot and drooping. "I'm dying."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded.

"Oh, Mister Morgan. I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, I deserve it." he smiled as she tisked in disapproval. "I mean it, sister. I'm not a good man. Never have been." he trailed off briefly before looking back to her. "but I've got people I need to look out for. They need money and as I said, I'm a dying man. And I'm not a good man. Got quite the bounty actually."

"What are you asking Mister Morgan?"

"My bounty is for 5,000. I want you to bring me in and collect it." His blue eyes bore into hers. "You're the only one I trust to send the money to the people who need it. All I have is this gold bar to repay you but-."

"Mister Morgan..." She floundered in her surprise. "Your past actions do not mean you should throw your life away."

"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm giving others the chance at a better life. A chance to live."

"are you sure?"

"Yes."


	8. Part 2 Chapter 4

Sister Caldéron sat patiently as Arthur Morgan wrote out his will.

He already knew what Hosea, John and Dutch should get so he swiftly wrote them down without thinking much about what those items meant, both to him and them. His best bandoleer would go to Javier, his boots would go to Lenny along with his razor and mirror. His horse would go to Charles along with his bow. Arthur couldn't help but drift off in memory of that time in the snow, Charles with his hand still wrapped from his injury, teaching him to hunt...

Uncle would get the stash of Guarma rum and Fire Whisky, Bill well, Bill could have whatever coat fit him best. His tan leather jacket would go to Jack. Too big for him now but someday...

Arthur took a slow steady breath as he realized he'd never see Jack fit into it.

He pulled off his hat and ruffled his hair hastily, trying to sort out his scrambled thoughts.

He knew he was doing the right thing, he didn't have any regrets or second thoughts, (about that at least) but it didn't make what he was about to do any easier.

He shoved aside the building melancholy and jotted down a few more names and a few more possessions. A part of him was bitter he didn't have enough for everyone. But an even bigger part of him wondered why they would even want his junk. Still, dolling it out between everyone seemed better than leaving the camp with a pile of his things to deal with. At the very least they could sell it.

He sighed heavily setting the pen down.

"I'm finished." he said.

"Are you sure?" Sister Caldéron asked gently. "It looks like you wrote down your material possessions but haven't explained why you have chosen to do what you are."

"And why should I explain that?" he said somewhat testily.

"Because you are doing it for them, don't you think they have a right to know why?" Her words were gentle and Arthur was beginning to think he'd chosen the wrong person to help him.

"You're not trying to talk me out of this are you sister?"

"Of course I am." she said calmly "but ultimately, it is your decision."

He nodded looking down at the pen. "I've never been very good with words. Don't know what to write." he admitted.

"Write what you want them to know. What you wish you could say to them. Fix the bridges that have been burned to ease the plague of regret later on. If you are doing this for them, then say you love them."

Arthur nodded picking up the pen again.

* * *

Charles and Lenny watched in the shadows as a white stagecoach rolled up to the doctor's office. It's driver hopped down and began tending to the horses. Checking straps and various buckles, giving the occasional pat to each of the four large Draft horses. When he was done he fastidiously brushed at a smudge of dirt that tainted the cuff of his long blue coat marking him as Saint-Denis police.

Lenny took a long drag from the cigarette, his eyes sliding to Charles who glared at the door of the doctor's office.

Koch's demonstration had been going on for the past hour. You needed tickets to attend. So, Charles and Lenny waited outside, waited for the moment when the "good" doctor would make his exit.

Finally the doors creaked open and a well-dressed man in a grey coat walked out, escorted by four more blue-coated officers.

Shit.

Lenny looked at Charles in alarm but the man just shook his head calmly.

They would only get one chance at this and it had to go perfectly.

Koch made his way confidently to the white stagecoach. His deep laugh, somehow, thick with a German accent.

He entered the coach and three officers mounted nearby horses and the fourth joined the driver on the stagecoach.

Charles signaled for Lenny to fall back to Taima and Maggie but remained where he was. Tracking the movement of the coach as it rolled along the cobblestone streets towards the hotel Koch would be staying at.

Lenny worried at his lip as he climbed up on Maggy. Pulling Taima behind him he trotted off to meet up with Charles, as they had planned.

Charles was several blocks away, near the church, when Lenny saw him again. He was still trailing the coach unnoticed. Lenny breathed a sigh of relief as he tampered down his growing anxiety and struggled to appear nonchalant.

The stagecoach had stopped.

Tho Lenny couldn't see it, but he knew a wheel had fallen off someone's cart and the ensuing traffic jam was causing a delay. He knew this because he had been the one to cause it.

He casually looked around at the somewhat busy street. The traffic could either aide them in their escape or ensure their capture. It was all down to Charles's plan and sheer luck.

He fidgeted in the saddle nervously, the stagecoach was still not moving.

It was on his third subtle glance around when he saw Arthur. He was standing up from a park bench handing something to a nun. She nodded to him and then Arthur pulled out what looked like a gold bar. At first the nun shook her head but Arthur gently took her hand and placed it in her palm. She looked close to crying.

A loud shout from Charles pulled his attention back to the heist and with dawning horror, he realized he had missed the signal. Gunshots flew in Charles's direction as he yanked one officer off the stagecoach and decked the other with a solid right hook.

Lenny yelped as he changed forward catching the three officers off-guard and the stagecoach jumped a curb. Whistles called for backup and a woman screamed as he veered right and dashed between two horses and narrowly missed a tree.

Charles steered the stagecoach down a grassy path, racing the horses out of town. Bullets blasted the wood, splintering it into shards around him. One of the horse shrieked horribly as it was shot, stumbling before it managed to find it's stride again.

Lenny reloaded his repeater, covering their escape.

Bullets whizzed past his head as more officers pursued them.

A horse and rider caught Lenny by surprise as it darted out in front of the stagecoach. He didn't have time to turn before the rifle was raised, aiming, point blank for Charles-

A gunshot sounded and the man's chest bloomed in a spray of blood. Lenny whipped around in time to see Arthur Morgan gun down three more, clearing their path out of Saint-Denis.


	9. Part 2 Chapter 5

Once he was suitably convinced they weren't being followed, Arthur snapped. "Alright! What the HELL was that? Stealing a goddam stagecoach in the middle of Saint-Denis, broad fuckin daylight?!" He'd intended to shout but his voice wouldn't rise to a satisfactory volume. "Charles, Lenny! I thought you had more goddam sense than that!"

"There was no other way around it." Charles defended smoothly, steering the battered stagecoach to a somewhat flat plane of grass as Arthur and Lenny watched for pursuers.

"What? Couldn't find a fancier stagecoach on the road-?" Arthur broke off into a torrent of hacking coughs. The unfinished scathing comment dying in his throat. His wild heartbeat lashing out in his rib cage, not doing him any favors.

One moment he was with Sister Caldéron and the next he was dashing off, barely able to keep Charles's head from being blown off. The thought terrified him to a core he didn't know he had, leaving him jittery and hypervigilant in ways he couldn't explain. He tried to shake off the feeling as he checked Charles over for bullet wounds. Thankfully he found none.

Tho the absence of injuries caused his temper to swell up again. Arthur was about to ride the river Styx for these people and THIS is the dumbass shit they pull?

"We weren't after the stagecoach."

"Well, what in God's name were you after?"

Charles was calm, facing forward and his low voice disappeared beneath the sound of the horse's hoves.

"What was that?"

"We were after the man we believe may have the cure for TB."

Arthur grew ridged with a sharp prickle of shock. Cure? He thought. What cure? Charles wasn't looking at him and Lenny was doing his usual pis poor job of casually looking away. "Who... how did you..."

"When you left camp, just before you disappeared for three weeks. I was on watch."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles turn to watch him but now Arthur couldn't face him.

He must have looked as dazed as he felt since Charles gently continued. "You mentioned something about it being John's idea."

Arthur nodded, eyes forward, focused between the ears of his horse. "I remember now."

"The cure" Charles went on, not allowing Arthur the time to be embarrassed. "The supposed cure," he amended. "was developed by the man in the in the stagecoach, a doctor Robert Koch."

Arthur eased back on the reins so he could peer into the window of the stagecoach. A balding man in a gray coat, mustache and beard, clutched a large doctors bag. His eyes darting from one place to another, desperately seeking an escape. Arthur nodded his hello when their eyes briefly met.

They drove the stagecoach behind a small cropping of trees before unsaddling to make the mans acquaintance.

Lenny stood on the other side of the cabin to block any exit and Charles and Arthur tried their best to appear non-threatening as they opened the door of the white stagecoach.

The frightened occupant pressed himself against the cushion as Charles climbed inside. "Dr. Koch?" he asked receiving a slow nod. "My name is Charles, we do not intend to harm you we wanted to ask you a few questions." he paused waiting for some indication the man understood him. Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Charles continued. "We've been told you've developed a cure for Tuberculosis?"

The response was spectacular. The man straightened up, vibrato and confidence quickly returning. He set his bag aside and leaned towards Charles, almost threatening. Arthur wanted to yank the man back but he trusted Charles knew what he was doing.

"I am," the doctor said with a remarkably thick German accent. "I postulate you vould like me to cure someone vit this terrible affliction?"

Charles nodded, frowning as the man smiled.

The Doctor looked at Arthur, still in the doorway, with assessing eyes. The gaze its'ef seemed to command a cough from him. Arthur hacked and gasped wetly, leaning on the carriage for support.

When it passed, he checked his palm. Blood.

He looked up as the Doctor reached for a thin pair of round glasses. Setting them on the edge of his nose he looked up again at Arthur. This time, his eyes held a certain gleam. A joy and excitement as he scanned over Arthur, eyes calculating and cunning. He felt a bit like he was being devoured by the intensity of the scrutiny.

The attention left Arthur unnerved, he couldn't help a quick glance to Charles. Charles, on the other hand, was giving a very heated glare to the German. His posture slightly leaning forward as if prepared to pounce.

"So." the German said smugly "You need my help?" It was said with the confidence of a politician and Arthur's wariness twisted into full-on distaste.

He was about to disagree by sending a bullet into his skull when Charles spoke up. "Here is the only deal we are prepared to offer you. You cure him, we let you go. Anything less than that ends with us killing you, you understand?"

Koch's smile dropped as he looked at Charles. "Y-yeas." he said after a large swallow. Arthur felt a bit vindicated seeing how frightened the Doctor was of Charles. He didn't bother to hide his smile as Charles climbed out of the coach.

"We bring the coach to Emerald Ranch, sell it and bring the Doctor back to camp." Charles looked back into the window and the doctor leaned away again. "If you try to run, we will kill you. If you try and fight us, we will kill you and if you call for help, in any way, we will kill you. You understand?"

"Crystal." the doctor murmured fearfully.

The ride to Emerald Ranch was promising in how uneventful it was. The doctor seamed sufficiently cowed from his first conversation with Charles and didn't seem to need his threats renewed as they were paid for the Stagecoach.

They kept away from the roads as much as possible on their way back to camp. The doctor riding with Charles. Lenny kept watch behind them and Arthur trotted along Charles like extra luggage.

They were making good timing, would definitely make it back to camp before nightfall but a constrictive burning in Arthurs' chest cause another bout of rough coughing. It lasted for several seconds and seemed to taper off till something thick and heavy was projected from his throat. He looked down to see his hand painted in blood. Dripping red and glossy... A lot more blood than before.

Arthur's world narrowed as he struggled through the panic to breathe. Each gasp heaving more blood.

Then all went black.


	10. Part 2 Chapter 6

A shot rang out and Arthur chased after it. He dashed through the dense forest, leaping over fallen trees and rocks. He heard a pained cry and ran faster.

He growled in frustration as he pulled and pressed his way through the thicket. Branches descended upon him, tangling around him, constrictive and painful. Arthur gasped as one large appendage coiled around his throat. He reaching for his knife but he couldn't find it at his belt.

Arthur heard the cry again. A plea he had heard many times before. One born of a non-lethal bullet wound.

He kicked out frantically, tripping himself in the process but somehow he managed to loosen the branches hold across him, tho the vice grip at his throat increased it's suffocating pressure.

He gained his footing again and tried to claw the limb off but it wouldn't budge. He trudged onward, dragging the weight of the branches along with him.

He followed a long wailing sound till he reached a glade and there on the floor of the grassy pasture, was the golden deer.

It thrashed and cried. Moaning and screaming painfully.

Once again Arthur felt a familiar kindship to the Animal. Bound to it on some spiritual level.

He tried to walk towards it but the branches held him back.

The animal continued to struggle, blood from a wound at its throat coated its thick fur.

The deer looked up at him. Its eyes shined dark with an unmistakable plea to aide it. It's fear and desperation contagious and Arthur found himself too engrossed in the turmoil of the deer to notice the roots wind around his legs.

An especially loud scream startled Arthur and a pain at his own throat made him double over coughing. He gasped and cried alongside the deer. The branches increased their hold and slowly began tugging him back into the forest. Arthurs strength was waning but some part of him knew he had to stay with the deer. That being separated would kill them both.

The deer flailed, it's limbs wild and uncoordinated, desperate for a solid purchase so it could stand.

Arthur struggled to breathe as he watched the buck get its feet under it. As it stood, Arthurs vision began to fade.

He heard another cry from the deer. One of fear but this time, Arthur knew it was for him.

* * *

Arthur felt week as he slowly regained consciousness. His throat burned and chest felt tight.

Someone nudged his head up and the cool lip of a canteen was pressed against the seam of his mouth. A low foggy murmur encouraged him to drink. After a few difficult sips, he turned his head away. The movement pulled at the pain in his throat.

"... promise..." was the only word he caught before slipping back to sleep.

* * *

It was fascinating watching the man struggle to breathe. One moment he was sitting up tall in the saddle. The next, hunched over vomiting blood. His fear was palpable.

Dr. Koch considered himself a brilliant man and many of his colleagues agreed. Throughout his life he had gained a reputation as a foremost authority in a wide array of deadly diseases. From cholera to typhoid, yellow fever, anthrax and Tuberculosis. His awards and accolades were numerous. But Dr. Koch had never had the misfortune of running into men like these before. These were men of action. Wild and uncultured as the American land they lived off of.

Dr. Koch had no illusion that the large black man wouldn't make good on his threat if he let his friend die... but after looking the patient over, he realized there was going to be a problem.

The illness was quite far along and thus any sort of treatment was going to be less effective.

The man was week and frail, whiter now than he was before. The turgor and pallor of his skin lead Koch to believe he had lost weight recently and was in need of hydration.

Having one of the men remove the man's coat, revealed how the sweat clung to the man's body. Long triangular patches of moisture under the armpits, chest and back. The man felt warm to the touch with fever.

About 20ccs of blood coated his hands and lap. Vomiting blood is not a typical symptom of TB but it was not unheard of. As a medical professional Koch found himself genuinely intrigued by his findings but Koch didn't really care... this was an opportunity.

"We need to get him someplace warm and dry. A place with a bed."

"We aren't far from camp." the large black man said evenly.

"No, that won't do. He needs someplace with a bed. Not a pile of unwashed sheets on the ground. I need running water and good lighting."

"All of that can be found in camp." The ignorant man insisted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Of all the arrogance!

"I am the doctor here and I say the man needs a city in which to treat him. Someplace CLEAN. " he spat out with snide confidence. "Or do you want to be the reason he dies?"

He was expecting the other man to back down in the face of obvious facts. To kowtow in the fashion he was normally accustomed to... instead, the man grew angry. Seeming to rise up in stature and his eyes flared in anger. "

"This mans dead body would still hold more value to me than yours alive."

Dr. Koch did his level best to suppress a shiver as he backed away. He had no illusions as to if this man was bluffing. The sincerity certainly caused Koch to reconsider his current mode of escape. Using the man's health as a means to get into town may not be as effective as he hoped.

Begrudgingly he agreed to travel the rest of the way back to camp.

* * *

Arthur heard someone saying something but he didn't care. Everything hurt, everything was dark and the voices were far away. He didn't have the energy to focus on them. Arthur just wanted to go back to the deer. It was injured, it needed him... and somehow, he needed it.


	11. Part 2 Chapter 7

Charles hollered for help before they even made it to the camp hitching post.

"What the hell happened?" Javier asked frantically looking at Arthur who draped uselessly across Charles back, limp and feverish.

"Just help him down." Charles quipped.

Javier slung the rifle from guard duty over his shoulder to assisted Arthur down from the horse. Tho Arthur had lost several pounds, his dead weight flopped heavily into Javier and the smaller man struggled to hold him up.

"Charles?" Hosea asked, his voice sharp and demanding. The lantern he held, casting long shadows on his face making him look much older than he was.

"It's." Charles didn't feel it was his place to tell the others about Arthur's diagnosis but as Dutch and Miss Grimshaw neared, he realized there would be no way around it.

"Arthur has TB." he said simply. The weight of those words had a unanimous effect on those around camp. Tilly gasped sitting up from where she lay on her bedroll. Hosea's impatient expression swiftly morphed into the stricken face of a father focused solely on his son.

Dutch's stride hitched momentarily as he crossed the camp before speeding up. A look of utter shock contorted his features. Miss Grimshaw abruptly halted before turning back to, presumably to retrieve some medical supplies from the wagon.

Hosea and Dutch reached Arthur and carefully pulled him away from Javier. Each grabbing an arm to carry their son to his bed. Charles hung back, watching the toes of Arthurs boots drag two parallel trails behind them.

Arthur groaned weekly as they hauled him onto his cot. A choked cough followed by a moist crackling wheez before he settled again. He murmured something in his sleep, tho he never regained consciousness.

"Are you sure it's TB?" Hosea asked placing the lantern on the bedside table, not looking away from Arthur.

"He's been coughing and vomiting up blood." Charles informed them.

"How long?" Dutch demanded.

"I'm not sure. I think the blood is a new development. He, he found out about it a month ago, I believe."

When Dutch spoke again it was a low whisper, something not intended to be said aloud but managed to slip out anyway. "a month?"

"Excuse the interruption but I believe I may be of some assistance." They all turned to find Koch entering the tent.

"And who is this?' Dutch asked looking to Charles.

"I am Doctor Robert Koch, worlds leading authority on Tuberculosis. And I bring with me, a cure." He said triumphantly.

"Cure?" Hosea scoffed dryly but Dutch perked up optimistically and Charles cringed.

"Charles, is this true?"

"It's... possible." Charles felt whatever chance he had to caution against Koch slipping away as Dutch eagerly extended a hand. "Dutch, the treatment may not be very effective. It could kill him."

"He would die anyway." The Doctor interrupted confidently. "His only chance is with my cure. My cure is, after all, why you decided to abduct me after my medical demonstration, correct?"

"Well yes, but-"

Hosea and Dutch turned on him, twin looks of surprise.

"I admire your devotion." the doctor went on. "but had you ever considered simply asking me for help? I am a healer after all. It is my life's work. I assure you sir, If I had known about the plight of this young man, I would have offered my services most readily." he continued turning back to Dutch. "I am a doctor of the highest caliber, trained at the best institutes in Europe. I have several clinics of my own. Tho I disagree with the method in bringing me here, it is unconscionable for me not to offer aid in this gravest of circumstances."

"Dutch, there is something-"

"I thank you, Mr. Smith, for all that you have done. Tho I assure you, doctor, it was done without my knowledge and I apologize for any mistreatment at this mans hand. You have my word, he will be dealt with accordingly."

"It is of no consequence, I completely understand. The desperate do terrible things."

"That is very generous of you Mr. Koch." Hosea said. Voice level and cautions.

"Doctor actually." The pompous man corrected.

Charles internally seethed watching the exchange. He should have known better! He was so focused on getting the doctor to cure Arthur, he didn't pay attention to the fact that Dutch was the perfect mark for Koch. Curse Dutch and his perpetual tendency to latch onto the pretty words of anyone who told him what he most wanted to hear. And Like Micah before him, he would become deaf to any deviation from that idealistic goal. To tunnel-visioned to consider any sort of tempered voice.

As Charles was dismissed from the tent he glared back at the Doctor. His victorious smile directed at Dutch as they chatted amicably. A part of Charles feared he had inadvertently delivered Arthur into the hands of the devil.

* * *

Miss Grimshaw entered with a cool basin of water and some soaking clothes. She set the bowl down on the nightstand and began folding a wrung out cloth to lay gently across Arthur's burning forehead.

"Unfortunately" the Doctor began. "I only have a few samples of Tibriculin with me. If he is to recover at all, he will require a strict regimen lasting several months. It is imperative he does not miss a single dose."

"sounds expensive." Dutch frowned.

"It is, but I invented it and my name carries a lot of weight in the medical community. I could go into town and request the samples be sent over immediately. News of my capture has certainly not reached the sanatorium up north I've been working with. I could have them send it to the nearest city and arrange to have one of your men pick it up?"

"And if you try to report us for your kidnapping?" Dutch asked, tho he was clearly considering what the doctor was presenting.

"You have my word I will not attempt to escape. My primary concern is for my patient."

Hosea couldn't help but notice that this doctor had only casually looked at his 'patient' since entering the tent. Hardly acceptable practice for a dotting doctor.

"And this medicine will cure him?"

"I have complete confidence in my Tuberculin."

"Very well, my youngest is in Valentine right now. He deserves to hear about his brother from me."

"Excellent." Koch readily agreed.

"Miss Grimshaw, Why don't you help our Dr. Koch here get settled in and have Mr. Pearson draw up a list of supplies we will need from Valintine. We leave tomorrow morning."

"Alright, this way sir." She said hastily, obviously not in favor of leaving Arthurs side.

Hosea watched them leave, made sure they were out of earshot before turning to Dutch but Dutch spoke first.

"That man will never be alone with Arthur." His voice trembled with well-disguised rage and Hosea was left staring up in awe at the sudden transformation. Dutch was a real conman. One who had evidently learned from his time as Micah's puppet.

"Dutch, are you sure we can trust him?"

"No, but we have no other choice." He sighed heavily.

"Alright Dutch." Hosea said brushing Arthur's hair back gently, "Tho when you get the chance you should apologize to Charles."

"I will." He said turning to leave. "You keep an eye on our boy, I'm going to find Charles."


	12. Part 2 Chapter 8

Miss Grimshaw watched Dr. Koch like a hawk. So much so, that Hosea had to shoo her away because the last thing they needed was the Doctor catching on they didn't trust him.

They had kept a tight shift all through the night keeping watch over him. All under the guise they were terrified for Arthurs well being. Because sometimes the best con is the truth.

Hosea was just about to relieve Tilly from watching over Arthur when he saw Charles reading a thick book by the campfire.

"Morning Charles" he greeted. His old joints cracking as he sat down.

"Morning Hosea," Came the in a monotone response, not all that much of a departure from his usual tone of voice but Hosea figured it had more to do with how captivated he was in his choice of reading material, whatever that was. The book was laid out flat on his lap. An uncomfortable and impractical reading position, unless you were hiding something, that is.

"What ya got their Charles?" He inquired lazily.

Charles looked around before tipping the book so Charles could see the cover. 'Tuberculosis: A search for a cure by Robert Koch.'

Hosea smiled fondly. Charles had certainly done his homework. "Where did you get that?"

"Had to order it from the general store when I first found out. I got this and a Strand magazine."

"What is a strand magazine?"

"It's a magazine from England, or Scotland, someplace in Europe. This particular issue has a very informative article about, well... about something." he finished coyly and turned a page.

Hosea hummed noncommittally as he warmed his hands, trying to stave off the mornings chill. "You have always been a good friend to Arthur." Hosea began softly, half to himself. "I want you to know it is appreciated. All that you do and all that you have done for him." Hosea smiled wistfully looking down at his palms. "Arthur always made sure to tell people they were appreciated. Don't know who he picked that habit up from. It certainly wasn't me or Dutch."

"I think you're being too hard on your self." Charles consoled. "Arthur well, he may not be what others consider to be a good man but he is certainly a better man than most. He just doesn't know it."

"Are you saying he picked up that habit from us?" he challenged good-naturedly.

Charles just huffed out his nose but remained quiet, attention going back to his book.

"Good morning Gentleman." Dutch greeted. "Hosea, Charles." he nodded to them in turn. Dr. Koch would like to give Arthur a dose of Tuberculin before we go to Valintine. I was wondering if either-"

Dutch didn't need to finish the sentence before Charles was tugging a blanket over his book and on his way over to Arthur's tent.

Hosea and Dutch both raising an eyebrow.

When they entered the tent Dr. Koch was standing with his arms up in the air. Drawing a solution out of a vial above his head. He pushed the plunger back before flicking the syringe, then very carefully, drawing it back to extract whatever amount the doctor felt was necessary.

He looked well practiced. His motions, fluid and familiar. A dance he had performed countless times.

"Are ve all here?" He asked. His German accent thicker now with morning fatigue.

"Yes." Dutch nodded.

Dr Koch leaned over Arthur, momentarily obstructing everyone's view. He pulled out Arthurs' arm. Then swiftly stuck the short needle into the fleshy part of his forearm.

"And it's done" he said. "Now I should let you know, for when we are gone. He may thrash around. Perspire and shout. All this is perfectly normal, I assure you. It is a side-effect of the Tibirutlin. It means it's working."

"Alright," Dutch said, a twinge of nervousness seeped into his voice by accident. "We should probably head out."

The doctor nodded and began strutting towards the horses. Dutch on the other hand stayed where he was. Eyes glued to the slow rise of Arthurs' chest. Slowly his feet began to move, to carry him forward towards Arthur. His hand rested against Arthurs' cheek like he was a child. His thumb lightly brushing, feather light touches that Arthur probably wouldn't feel even if he was awake.

"My boy," he whispered. And Charles had to look away from the tender moment. "Please be here when I get back. Don't give up. Keep fighting son." Dutch gulped. "You are stronger than this. If anyone can beat this, you can... I... I have faith in you Arthur." His voice was raw but remained unbroken.

He turned to Hosea. The two outlaws simply exchanged a look. No need for words. Hosea would watch over Arthur and Dutch would get whatever the doctor needed to cure him.

Hosea took Tilly's seat after Dutch left.

"Well, Mr. Smith. What does your book say we do now?"

"We wait."

"For how long?"

"20 minutes or so?"

"Then what?"

"He will perspire and shake as the doctor said. A peculiar lump will form at the injection site. It will turn red."

"The book said all that."

"No, the strand article did."

They sat in pregnant silence after that. Waiting for the horrible side effect of the cure. Minutes passed and... nothing. He lay unchanged.

Hosea checked his watch time and time again.

"It's been 25 minutes, does this mean it isn't working?" He asked worriedly.

Charles focus that had been on Arthurs breathing was brought back to Hosea. "How long?" he asked, tense with unknown energy.

"25 minutes," Hosea confirmed checking his pocket watch again.

Charles lept up and pulled out Arthurs' arm. His fingers brushed along the skin of his forearm, the area at the injection site.

"There's no bump," He said whispering.

"What does that mean?" Hosea asked, his fear mounting.

Charles looked at him, eyes bright and wide with shock. "The strand article I was telling you about. It said Tuberculin shouldn't be used as a cure. But for confirmation."

"Charles, I haven't read all that you have. For god sakes, speak plainly!"

"It's negative." He smiled. "The tuberculin test is negative. Arthur does not have TB."


	13. Part 2 Chapter 9

John was getting fed up with Arthur and his stoicism. He was sick. Everyone could see it. He lifted his shotgun and aimed for the golden deer. Its pelt was in pristine condition.

He aimed for the head.

And for whatever reason, he hesitated.

A shot rang out and the buck startled and fell with a pained cry.

"I got it paw!" a kid yelled. "You see that? I got it."

John lowered his gun but hung back, still hidden in the bushes as he watched the deer thrash and cry. It moaned and screamed painfully as the child ran up and knelt behind it.

It struggled to stand but the kid yanked its head down forcibly. "How much meat do you think it has on it paw?"

"That will last us a couple of weeks I suppose boy. but you didn't shoot it clean. See that's all bad meat now. Ya gotta aim for the head." The father pointed with his rifle but didn't pull the trigger.

The animal continued to struggle. Its blood now covering the boy who held it down.

An especially long scream tore from its throat, desperate and fearful. It kicked out and cried, it's movements weakening.

"Put it out of its misery!" John shouted, standing.

The father raised his rifle and aimed it at John. "Why don't you mind your own business."

The kid let go of the deer and held up his small rifle as well. Mirroring his father's childish vibrato. "Yeah, keep moving!"

John returned their scowl but raised up his hands in surrender. "Fine, take it easy, I'll be on my way."

He whistled for his horse and hopped up quickly as the father shouted something about. "I knew you was a coward."

He heard the kid laugh behind him but John didn't care. He simply picked up his gun, turned towards the grinning duo and shot the deer straight in the eye.

A quick kick to his horse and he was gone. A few shots chased after him but the father's aim was as good as the sons. So he was well out of danger.

* * *

He made it back to Valintine with a wolf carcass and a few turkeys. A piddly amount but it would have to do.

He took the few dollars and made his way to the convenience store. Intent on buying some supplies for Jack and Abigail, as well as some things for Arthur. Stubbor fool would have his morning coffee laced with cough syrup if he even tried to refuse medicine from John.

Valentine bustled about its usual humdrum as its citizens went about their day. Builders and neighbors chatting amicably as John passed, head down reviewing his shopping list.

"...Arthur Morgan." someone was saying. "He never gave me their names. Please does anyone know him?"

That caught Johns attention.

"Uh, mam," John asked tentatively. The woman, a nun turned to greet him. "Did you say, Arthur Morgan?"

"Ohh," she said, with enthusiastic relief. "Thank you father." she said, hands clasped together. "you know Mr. Morgan? You are a friend of his?"

"Ahhh, well you could say that. He's kinda my brother."

"Oh, Mr. Morgan. I am so glad to meet you," she said, fishing out a small package wrapped in cheesecloth and twine. "My name is Sister Calderon, I have been trying to return this gold bar to him. He ran off in such a hurry. I didn't have time to give it back to him."

"Uh," John stammered looking at the gold brick. "What'd he give you a gold bar for?"

"Well, for that story I don't think we should be out in the middle of the street. Come to the church, please, we have much to discuss."

The amount of trust the nun had was amazing. John found himself walking beside her holding the heavy brick, absentmindedly considering what outlandish thing Arthur must have done to find it in the first place; let alone why he would give it away over donating it to camp. And to a nun?

They passed the cemetery and entered the old white building.

"Have a set Mr. Morgan."

"Ah, it's Marston." he corrected before his mind caught up with him. "Ah, we are half brothers... different fathers."

"Oh, my apologies Mr Marston."

"no problem, um now about the brick."

"Yes, you see it was in payment for... well" she pulled out a folded piece of paper. "He wrote this for those he loved. I was to deliver it to his family using his name, but he never told me who I should give it to."

"I, I don't understand, lady." John looked at the paper confused.

The nun sighed. "He, I... I don't think it is my place to say and yet... for me to have found his brother, must be a sign. Yes," she nodded to herself. "You see, Mr Morgan was told by a doctor he has Tuberculosis."

John's blood rand cold, Tuberculosis?... but the nun was still talking.

"He said there were those important to him who were in need of funds. He gave me this gold bar and told me it would be in exchange for bringing him into the Sand-Denise police to collect the ransom and send it back to his loved ones."

Horrified was not the right word. Johns' stomach dropped out and a heavy chilling devastation raced through his veins. The new information sending a shockwave through his system and he hat motionless as he mentally process what he was hearing. After a moment for the shock to dissipate, a wave of warm burning anger filled his chest.

Tears threatened to fall as his anger changed to grief. He knew Arthur was stupid but not that stupid... To trade himself for his own bounty?

A gentle warm hand cupped his own and surprisingly John did not pull away. "Mr Morgan is a troubled soul who does not understand that the value of his life is greater than gold to those who love him back."

"He's a fool." John agreed.

"Here." The nun said handing off the paper. "I believe this belongs to you. They are his words. His true feelings for the important ones in his life. Tho he expected them to only be read after his passing, I believe there is still time to teach him his true value."

"Thank you, mam," John said standing. "For everything." he paused "Here," he said handing back the gold brick. "Take this."

"Mr. Marston. That is very generous of you..."

"Your right, my brother's life is worth more this and he needs to learn that." He slipped the gold brick back into her hands, tipped his had and turned to storm out of the church. "He'll learn that when I tell him I gave away his stupid brick."

The nun watched him leave.

"They are very different boys now that Micah is gone," she said to the room. "They have grown so much in such a short time."

"Yes," The Strainge Man said coming out from around the pulpit. "They have both grown in surprising ways. I wonder if others have as well."


	14. Part 2 Chapter 10

Dutch sat up high in the saddle. The doctor behind him as they rode to town. "I apologize for the blindfold Dr Koch. But we don't want you telling people where we are after you're released." he steered the count behind a particularly dense growth of bushes.

"tho I detest it, I do understand it's necessity. Your Mr Smith just used a sack of corn feed they picked up at a farm. So this at least smells better."

Dutch laughed at that. He directed the Count up a small hill before turning under the lip of a rock that ran parallel to the railroad tracks. Valentine was almost in sight. "It should be fine to take it off now, if you'd like." he joked.

"Gladly." the doctor huffed. He looked around squinting till his eyes adjusted to the morning light.

They followed the tracks up to the post office and Dutch hitched the horse before giving a quiet, stern warning to the Doctor. "Remember why we are here."

"yes, yes." The Doctor agreed nonchalantly looking around till his eyes fell on an old blind man holding a cup not far from them.

"A penny for your fortune?" he asked.

"Is that, a real fortune teller?" he approached the man curiously. As tho it was some rare specimen to be examined, not some poor wondering vagabond.

"A penny for your fortune." he asked again, his withered voice directed at Dr. Koch.

"I'm afraid I don't have any money." The German said padding his pockets.

Dutch scoffed. "It's little more than a parlor trick. He knows nothing."

"A penny to see the paths before you?" he asked turning now to face Dutch.

It must truely be a novel experience for the high-society Doctor, since he began turning out his pockets looking for loose change. "Alright fine," Dutch relented. He pulled out a coin and dropped it into the metal cup with a clang. "Now tell him his future."

"It is you who gave the coin, it is you whos future I will see." The blind man explained. "You will soon be tested. Death will bring Death and a most unexpected reunion will bring another."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Dutch gestured to the blind man.

"I see nothing else for you."

"See, I told you it was nothing but hocus-pocus nonsense."

Dutch ushered the doctor towards the post office before he could be suckered into giving away any more money.

"That was fascinating." The doctor said, a schoolboy skip in his step. "I've heard of such people but to find-."

"Hey, I know you!" A stranger said coming up behind them, abruptly halting the doctor's enthusiasm. Dutch froze and he fought back the instinct to pull out his revolver. "You're that doctor from Saint-Denis."

He relaxed enough to turn around and face the man who pointed angerly at Dr. Koch. "The one who did that demonstration. All those people died! You killed them. The authorities are looking for you." He accused, sidestepping around the Doctor like he was contagious.

"I did not kill them. They knew the risks." The doctor defended. Hands held up in surrender as more people in the post office turned to look.

"You said it was a cure." Dutch challenged, his hand itching back to his weapon.

"If they had survived the side effects it would have cured them." He explained, trembling with rising anger of his own.

Dutch slowly unholstered his gun. "My SON took that medicine!" He yelled back. An all-consuming ravenous fury, narrowed his vision. His lips peeled back revealing a toothy Cheshire grin. Tho his gun was held steady with practiced ease, his empty hand clenched and unclenched to the rhythm of his breath.

"It works!" The doctor shouted without turning towards him. The people in the postoffice glancing nervously to each other at his outburst. "I'm telling the truth! It's my life's work. It isn't my fault!" his voice rose loud and frantic. Desperation and madness showed as he looked from face to face trying to convince them he was right. "They all called me a fraud, that I LIED about my work. BUT NO, I am the greatest of my generation! I would have cured ANTHRAX if that French bastard hadn't beaten me to it! AND he did so using MY WORK, he didn't even cite ME! IT should have been ME!" he pounded his own chest to illustrate his point.

Dutch took a half step back, hesitant, as he watched the educated man steadily unravel. The Doctors tone was strong but pitched in hysterics at certain words as he rambled on. "It should have been MY institute, MY NOBLE PEACE PRIZE! I've dedicated my life! And for what? To be chased out of Europe? Have my awards retracted? They took away my life!"

"And what did you take from them?" Dutch questioned. When the Doctor finally turned, he startled at noticing the gun in his face. A bit of sanity came back into his countenance as he stared frightfully down the barrel of the weapon.

"I, I took nothing. All I have ever done is for the benefit of humanity... It, it should have worked." he pleaded. Tho Dutch got the distinct impression it was more to convince himself than anyone else.

"Will it kill my son?" he asked before he could stop himself, realizing he didn't want to face that possible truth so soon.

"I, I'm a doctor, I don't KILL people... but I'm not sure." He looked glassy-eyed and lost without the anger from before. The fight was gone and what remained was the hollow shell of a man who had every reason to achieve greatness and failed. Someone desperate to make right what he had set wrong. He wasn't a con, or perhaps he had just cond himself?

Dutch pushed back a twinge of sympathy for the man as he backed out the door.

He holstered his weapon. A growing sense of dread sat heavy in his chest like pneumonia. Arthur could be dying.

He swiftly passed the blind man as he dashed to his horse.

"Death for death a life for a life." he reminded as Dutch kicked The Count into a high gallop and flew across the countryside at a breakneck pace.

After a few minutes of riding, Dutch became aware of a second thundering beat of horse hooves just behind him. Another rider pursuing him with the same reckless abandonment he was demanding of his horse. He urged The Count on as the rider began to overtake him.

Dutch turned, surprised to find he recognized the two twin scars across the riders cheek. "John!"


	15. Part 2 Chapter 11

Arthur couldn't draw enough breath to scream as he felt the branches at his throat twitch and the edges of his vision blinked white.

The deer charged, golden antlers dropped low and plowed into the dark tree as it strangled him. It bleated, loud and frightful, pulling back to rear up and smash its cloven hooves down onto the coiled roots at Arthurs' feet. It roared as it rammed back into the body of the tree. Thrashing and raking it's powerful antlers against the trunk till it's dense bark cracked and splintered off, allowing the prongs to penetrate its flesh.

This time the branches recoiled.

Arthur sucked in a large gasp of air as he tumbled to the ground.

Glancing over, he saw the Deer had skewered the trunk of a particularly menacing looking, craggy old tree. A black ooze seeped from the bark and a rattling whine, like creaking floorboards, groaned out of the tree as it shuttered.

Arthur climbed up on his hands and knees and drew his pistol. He aimed for the hole the deer's antlers had pierced and emptied his weapon.

The branches dropped to the ground, twitching once then lay still.

Arthur sagged in relief as he untangled himself from the trees remains.

The deer walked towards him, looking him over before making eye contact.

A deep satisfying sense of peace passed through him as he gazed back into the dark eye. He got the impression he was being appraised, and most shocking of all, he felt its approval. As tho Arthur lived up to some kind of expectation.

"It's because you have." a man said, drawing Arthurs attention away from the deer.

Arthur stood up on shaky legs, ready to defend himself. The golden deer pressed against him, steadying him as he gained his footing.

"and just who the hell are you?" Arthur asked the newcomer, none too pleasantly, tho under the circumstances he felt justified.

The strange man hummed looking away. "Someone who knows you rather well. You and those around you."

Arthur hackles rose defensively and the deer next to him planted it's feet firmly and lowered it's head threateningly.

"You misunderstand me. I do not mean you or those around you any harm."

"Then what the hell are you doing? and what the hell was that?" Arthur gestured towards the perverse tree.

"The manifestation of a very powerful force in your life. One quite bitter about the changes that have been made."

"You're not making any sense, friend"

"Then I shall speak plainly. You, Mr Morgan were fated to die by Tuberculosis or by Micah's hand. It was your destiny... but" he trailed off as he took sweeping steps over to the dark tree. "But you have quite literally beaten fate. Not just you but the others. By becoming free of the toxin called Micah you have all grown in surprising ways."

The man turned back to Arthur. "You selflessly chose to give your life for others. Your brother chose to value life over gold and your father chose to turn his back against revenge. You have ALL chosen a different path... and as a result, your destiny is now changed. It is wide open to you and yours, Mr Morgan. Your fate is your own."

"I don't understand, what's that mean?"

"You will... There is something coming, Mr Morgan. Something that will change your life forever."

Arthur was stymied by the vague response. The deer huffed next to him, sharing the sentiment.

"Look mister, I've been vomiting up blood, I'm fairly sure that isn't something people just shrug off."

"Under normal circumstances perhaps but the doctor was wrong about the TB."

"Wrong? Then what do I have?"

"There isn't a name for it yet. In the future, it will be called Mallory-Weiss."

"Mallory?"

"If it helps, some 80% of those with it are men."

"It doesn't but thanks."

"Mallory-Weiss is also called gastro-esophageal laceration syndrome," he went on. "refers to bleeding from a laceration in the mucosa at the junction of the stomach and esophagus. It's caused by excessive drinking, smoking, vomiting, coughing and shouting. This is all coupled alongside a persistent flue that turned into pneumonia. Together it exacerbated your symptoms and the doctor confused your condition with TB. But it will pass and you will heal."

Arthur's brow pinched up in confusion "If it's caused by drinking how come Uncle don't have it?"

The man chuckled, "I quite enjoy you Mr Morgan. I know you don't understand me now but it doesn't matter."

The man looked to the deer before smiling and walking away. "It's an appropriate reflection of you Mr Morgan. They are providers of sustenance and warmth. So many people are able to survive because they exist. They are gentle and calm but also wild and capable of great ferocity. As an artistic outlaw, this duality suits you rather well."

Arthur looked to the deer. Something in him preened, a pride at somehow belonging to this animal.

"Great things are on the horizon Mr Morgan but first, you need to wake up... the others are waiting for you." by the time he looked back, the strange man was gone.

* * *

Arthur heard a soft voice drolling on in the rhythmic pattern of reading. A soothing deep tenner voice he recognized as soon as his foggy brain focused on the meaning of each word.

'Hosea?' Arthur tried to say but no sound came out. Just his lips moving. The voice continued reading, undisturbed.

Arthur opened his eyes slowly and swallowed.

That had been a mistake, he gasped as his raw, dry, abused throat began to protest his movements.

"Arthur?" Hosea asked quickly, through the inhale of a gasp. As much as he wanted to, Arthur couldn't respond. His throat burned with a dry fire. His hand rubbed at his neck almost expecting to find a long gash across his trachea.

"Lenny, get Charles." A slight tremble in Hosea's his voice gave away just how worried he was.

He heard a shuffling as someone got up and left the tent.

Arthur tried to speak again but a warm hand cupped his face, startling him from the next attempt.

"shush shush, son, don't speak. It's alright. You don't need to say anything."

Arthur settled for nodding and Hosea seemed to relax.

"You're going to be alright, son. The fever has passed. The doctor was wrong, you do not have Tuberculosis. You're going to be ok. You'll be just fine, my boy," The words felt rehearsed like a mantra. Something Hosea had been repeating to himself over and over again. Tho the sentiment was sincere enough that Arthur relaxed and believed him.

The tent flapped open again and Charles and Lenny came into view.

Charles smiled down at him, a relieved pleasant smile. "Hows he doing?" he asked Hosea.

"Um, he looks to be having some difficulty speaking."

"that's understandable, does it hurt to nod?" He asked.

He shook his head no

Charles helped prop Arthur up and motioned for Hosea to hand him the cup of water on the nightstand.

"I've been doing a lot of reading lately." He explained holding up the cup to Arthurs chapped lips. "and it turns out boiling water is a way to make it safe to drink. Tho you don't have to worry, it's cooled down since we boiled it." He slowly began pouring a few meager splashes into his mouth. "Easy." He murmured, "Not too much."

It was too much but also not enough at the same time. It burned as he swallowed but also soothed the firey cracks that lined the inner walls of his throat. It felt heavily despite the pain.

Charles allowed him a few more sips to lubricate his throat, enough where Arthur felt he could attempt to speak again.

"Howdy fellas."


	16. Part 2 Chapter 12

"First off I want to say I love you, son. But my god, I wanna slap you so hard you'll need the human equivalent of a horse revive." Dutch paced around the small area of Arthurs tent like a caged lion. Poised and tense in equal measure. "going to Saint-Denis to trade yourself? By that logic I should do the same. My bounty is twice what yours is!"

"Dutch, no." Arthur said immediately, sitting up on his bed.

"You hypocrite! You can't expect to... we can't lose you, son. You're worth more than all the money in blackwater." He said it for a bit of levity but it seemed to really hit home for Arthur. He turned his head and blinked away tears, pursing his lips to hide the tremble.

"I'm, I'm sorry Dutch. I just thought it would have been better for everyone to have the money. Especially since I thought I was dying. I thought it'd be enough to give everyone a decent chance at a new start. I saw it as something I could leave for you all. A way to keep you safe."

"The government prints new bills every day, Arthur. But YOU," he broke off hiding tears of his own and Arthur refused to look. "Son, if it turned out you had TB, I still wouldn't let you go through with that." His voice quivering at the thought."Knowing that you died that way, at the end of a rope, alone. I can't imagine, I don't want to imagine. Arthur... You're my boy."

"I'm sorry Dutch." Arthur hung his head and lay back down. Dutch felt like shit. Guilting Arthur wasn't what he wanted. He wanted him safe, he wanted him happy. But all the pressure he'd been putting on Arthurs young shoulders was taking its toll. Arthur carried the weight of the world, or at least their little corner of it. Arthur was the pin that held the entire camp together, the central key point they all pivoted around.

"I... have been a terrible father," Dutch admitted. "I have managed to raise you into believing you are expendable and you are not." Dutch breathed deeply "A new start at the cost of your life would drive me mad, I'd jump off a cliff."

The sincerity in Dutches words left no room for denial, Arthur didn't even try.

"You are loved far more than you know." Silence filled the tent and Dutch and Arthur still refused to look at each other. Dutch pretended not to see Arthur wipe his face.

"John met your nun accomplice in Valintine." Dutch continued, raising his tone to something a bit more friendly. "She told him about your little plan." Dutch laughed without humor. He finally sat down on the empty chair beside the cot. He felt heavy, drained and tired. "He gave it back." Dutch whispered, half to himself.

Arthur turned to look at him, perplexed.

"The nun, she gave the bar of gold to John and he gave it back." Dutch's eyes were soft as he spoke, a ghost of a smile as he looked out through the gap of the tent entrance. "He held five hundred in gold and gave it away because he wanted his brother to know he was worth more."

Dutch finally turned to face Arthur. "I certainly didn't teach him that but I wish I had."

"You're not mad at him?" Arthur asked tentatively.

"Under the circumstances? He absolutely did the right thing." Dutch huffed a bit. "And in doing that, he proved to be a stronger man than I. I who have led my children to believe their worth is dictated by the government. An arbitrary amount Uncle Sam is willing to bribe others to apprehend them for." Dutch's voice twisted in destain as he spoke, shaking his head sadly. "I promise Arthur, I will make this up to you. Tho to be honest, I will probably fail... Since Micha left, I've become more aware of my own flaws. And how I treat you is a big one. I don't have the right to ask Arthur, but will you give me a chance to make things right?"

"Of course Dutch, always."

Dutch smiled fondly.

Someone outside the tent cleared their throat and both men turned to see John peaking through. "Sorry to interrupt, I'll go.-"

"No," Dutch said hastily, I've been here a while and I'm sure Arthur is sick of me."

"I'm fine Dutch." Arthur assured.

"No, I think you boys need a moment to talk things through yourselves. I'll check in on you later Arthur." Dutch promised. As he passed John he made sure to clap a firm hand on his shoulder, a show of strength and approval.

"How ya feeling?" John asked sitting in the chair Dutch had just vacated.

"Fine, much better." He answered honestly.

"I'm glad." John said... and Arthur was mortified to see him pull out a familiar folded scrap of paper. The page he had given to the nun. He wanted to dig a hole and bury himself.

Ignoring Arthurs childishness, John began to read. "John, It occurs to me I never officially forgave you for running away. Nor did I explain why it was so difficult for me to welcome you back. Tho to you it may seem my anger was unfounded, I have only myself to blame for misleading you. Now that I am dying I have no reason to keep the truth form you. I had a son." Johns' voice broke around the word but he cleared it with a stiff cough before continuing.

"I admit, at first it was a frightening notion to be the father of a kid. Someone who would be permanently stained as the bastard son of an outlaw. I had condemned an innocent and it would always be my responsibility for whatever misfortune fell on him due to his association with me. I felt guilty long before he was born. But the moment I saw him I fell impossibly in love. He was my child. Blue eyed boy we named Isaac, he was so small. Tiny little fingernails and soft fuzzy little head. I would destroy the world a dozen times over to save my boy form any law or gang that threatened him."

"I had spoken to Dutch and Hosea at length for ways to keep them safe. Should they come travel with us or would it be safer for me to leave them alone entirely? Perhaps it would have been but I was selfish, and cutting all ties was impossible for me. In the months since Isaac's birth, I grew to need to see them. A need as important as air. I also would not allow them to join us, as I feared it would be more dangerous to travel with a bunch of hucksters. So, with Dutche's permission, I had a house built just for them. Every month I would come back with food supplies and more money. Whatever they needed."

"For the first time since riding with Dutch and Hosea, I began to dream of settling down. Start a ranch. Rase horses and teach my son to shoot tin cans off the picket fence. I began to dream of a home. But I realized this all too late."

"One day I rode home and found two crosses out back. John, it broke me in ways I haven't been able to heal from. I lost the most important thing in my life and there was no way of ever getting it back. And when you disappeared for that year, I saw you walk away from everything, everything I had stolen from me. The lives I still mourn for to this day. I find it difficult to put into words how angry I became with you. YOU had EVERYTHING, and you walked away."

"John, I love you. You are my brother in every way that matters. But don't make the same mistake I did. Value what you have now because it is not permanent. The reason I have been so angry with you is because I am afraid you will one day wake up to find you have destroyed the greatest thing you have ever had. I am afraid you will live with the same pain I do. And I would not wish that on anyone. It has come to define the very pits of hell for me. As I simply can not imagine a greater pain on any plain of existence."

John sighed, wiping tears from his eyes as he stared at the floor. Arthur sniffed, not even caring he was openly crying. An old wound, lanced. Splayed open in ways it hadn't in over a decade.

Time had not eased this wound. It still felt like it did the day he found their graves.

"Arthur," John said gently, refolding the letter. His voice cracking again. "I need you to look at me."

After a moment of panting breaths, struggling to steady himself, Arthur turned to face John. His brother's eyes puffy and red, his mouth pinched tight and tears streamed down his face. "Arthur." He repeated, tho this time it was whispered. "I need you to understand something, something I've never be able to get you to understand before. You need to look at me and not look away as I speak ok?"

Arthur could only manage a nod.

"Arthur, you are not alone. You are my brother and best friend. Don't lock me out of your life by keeping these secrets anymore. Micah, the TB... your son!" his face contorted with raw pain as it became physically difficult to speak. "I am your family as much as you are mine! I love you, Arthur. Don't push me away anymore. You said in your letter, it is how you define hell... " John gasped "You've been living this hell in silence for YEARS." John leaned forward and grasped Arthur in a tight embrace. "I can't imagine what I'd do if I ever lost Jack, he's become so important. I don't even know how to express it and I keep messing it up... but Arthur, I'm a father too, I don't want to imagine what losing him would feel like but I know I'd be devastated." He gasped as a suppressed cry got caught in his chest.

"And now to learn our family should have been bigger, that I should have had someone calling me 'Uncle John' all this time. God Arthur, I'm so sorry." His voice growing soft as it choked off again. "You don't have to go through this all alone, Arthur. Let me in... you're not alone."

Arthur hickuped and sobbed into his brother, pulling him tightly as the love from his brother began to wash his festering wound. Tho it didn't heal him, it couldn't close a wound so great, the scars would always exist... It did make him feel permission to grieve in ways that broke open his soul and allowed for the promise of recovery.

He cried until he was physically spent, the fabric beneath him wet with tears. Tired and limp, still not completely recovered from his sickness, he saged against John. Eyes already closed and his breathing gradually evening out. "I miss them so much, John." he whispered, and John could do nothing except hold him tighter. They stayed there till he finally fell asleep.

When he woke, the sun was shining and John was asleep in the chair next to his bed. Arthur couldn't help a fond smile play across his face. Perhaps Dutch was right, he had no idea of just how much he was loved.


	17. Part 2 Chapter 13

Cloaked by the morning mist of the forest, Arthur had managed to slip past Miss Grimshaw. His breath billowed out around him as he sunk low to the ground. Peering out over at Bill on parole. He was almost out of camp, he just had to wait fo-

"And where do you think you're going?" A low voice whispered in his ear.

Arthur swallowed back his shout of surprise and looked to glare at Charles.

"I've been sleeping all day." He spat in a harsh whisper, tugging Charles into a lower, more discreet, couch.

"You've had good reason to be sleeping Arthur, you've been sick."

"I just wanted to stretch my legs. That's healthy, right?" A bit of unintended defensiveness seeped into his tone and he turned back to monitor Bills path on watch duty.

Charles sighed. "I understand it's frustrating. You've been cooped up. But you've only been awake for two days. We just want to make sure you're alright. You gave us quite a scare."

"If you want to make sure I'm ok then come with me." He offered, extending an olive branch without taking his eyes off Bill. "Now's our chance." Without waiting for a response, Arthur darted out, prowling deeper into the forest.

Arthur paid close attention to the second set of footfalls behind him as he left the camp behind.

They had only wondered a short distance from the usual parole path when Charles started in on encouraging Arthur to sit and rest for a bit. He motioned to a large tree but for whatever reason Arthur just didn't feel secure leaning against it, so they compromise by stopping to rest just beyond a large boulder.

The morning air had a nice chill to it, the waving breeze not uncomfortable but refreshing. The sweet air wrapping around them leaving them feeling young and satisfied as the crickets sang for the rising sun.

They sat comfortably, shoulder to shoulder. Arthur fiddled with his hands briefly, a nervous gesture Charles had seen on occasion but was still rare. Tho Charles didn't want to, he considered leaving to give Arthur some space but finally, he spoke...

"Eh, Charles, I've been meaning to say 'Thank you', since you saved my life."

Charles pondered the weight behind those words. "Arthur, You didn't even have TB. So in the end, I didn't do anything."

"Actually you did. Far more than you know." Arthur said somewhat hesitant. "... you see, the reason I was in Saint-Denis was to... well, ransom myself for my own bounty. I was in the process of arranging to have the money sent back to camp." He looked down as if ashamed. "If it wasn't for your kidnapping Dr Koch." he trailed off, eyes going a bit foggy. "I would have made a terrible mistake, I know that now. I just want to say thank you, for all that you did and tried to do. And not only that, Hosea said you really went above and beyond for me."

"I don't know if I'd say-"

"You kidnapped a doctor, broad daylight in Saint-Denis and became the camp doctor in less than two months... and that's just the stuff I saw."

Arthur looked up at Charles, eyes catching the veiled moonlight from the fog in ways that made them appear to glow. "Lenny told me you had the entire camp working for you. Even Dutch." he teased. There was a softness in his eyes and Charles did his best not to gasp.

"Would'a loved to have seen that." Arthur whispered fondly. "Thank you. I've never known someone to go to such lengths for me."

"How do you mean?" Charles asked, "surely Dutch, Hosea and John have-"

Arthur leaned further against the bolder, stretching his back as he suppressed a yawn and shook his head. Charles scowled suspiciously, mentally preparing to convince the stubborn outlaw to go back to bed.

"Of course they have done more for me than I ever expected or deserved-"

"You do deserve it." Charles chastized gently. "and someday we will make you understand, you deserve happiness."

Arthur looked lost as he swallowed, "What I mean is, when you found out I was dying you, you... I don't know, you didn't give up. You got books and you studied, you found ways around to... Charles, for god's sake, you found the cure to TB! Even if it wasn't real, it was the closest thing we have to one on the entire planet. I'm confident that even if I had TB, you would be there for me in ways the others wouldn't be able to."

Arthur was leaning forward, eager to make Charles understand where he was coming from. "Sure the others would try to help me but you are the one that did. I just want to say, Thank you."

Charles returned the soft smile and Arthur glanced down to watch the movement of his lips. The air around them grew tense and that lost expression came back into Arthurs eyes. "I just want you to know," he licked his lips as he continued. "I'm very grateful. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask, alright?"

"I know Arthur." Charles said softly, his heartbeat sounding loudly in his own ears.

Arthur forced himself to lean back.

"Besides, John can't keep a secret for two seconds. You kept my secret for an entire month. Whether I was right or wrong is debatable-"

"No it's not, you should have told us." Charles interrupted, seriously. He didn't want Arthur to feel guilty but it wasn't right that he continues with this flawed reasoning. "It was your right to tell them but it was their right to know. You are our family, Arthur."

Arthur looked sufficiently chastised. Perhaps thinking on his conversation earlier with Dutch and John, Charles didn't know. "We all care for you, Arthur. Very much."

Arthur smiled at his words. "You do?" he asked as he turned to Charles, something important hanging on the edge of those words. An unspoken meaning that made Charles nod encouragingly.

"I-"

"ARTHUR MORGAN!" Susan Grimshaw shouted, not caring she was waking up the entire camp.

"Shit." Arthur cursed and Charles laughed. Arthur could face down Pinkertons and O'Driscolls but have him face a rabid Miss Grimshaw and the large man turned into a feral cat on the run from a coyote.

"We should probably be getting back."

Arthur nodded, hanging his head and that garnered another chuckle from Charles. He leaned over and rested a hand on Arthurs' shoulder. "Come on, we'll tell her you needed to go for a walk." he smirked.

"You wanna tell her this was your idea?"

Charles just laughed loudly, his mirth infectious Arthur continued. "I'll pay ya, Charles."

"You don't owe me anything, Arthur. I'll always help you." There was a sweetness to his voice that left Arthur glad he decided to go on this little morning expedition, Miss Grimshaw be damned.


	18. Part 3 Chapter 1

"Mr Morgan." the doctor said coming out of his mother's room. "You can go in now."

the boy pulled on the cigarette he held between his teeth before subbing it out on the wall of the old rundown shack they lived in.

His heavy footfalls carried him across the room, pausing at the door as the doctor spoke again. "I'm afraid she doesn't have much time. I've tried to make her as comfortable as possible but well, there is nothing more I can do."

The boy turned to the doctor, a fit of simmering anger threatened to explode in his face but the man seemed unaware of the possible threat.

"I have other patients to see today, paying ones. I will need to be on my way." He clipped his bag closed and turned towards the door to leave. "I'll send someone by tomorrow morning to collect the body."

The door creaked open, the door creaked closed.

The boy slowly gathered himself before pressing his open palm to his mother's room door and pushed it open.

She lay on the bed, pale and thin. Her familiar warm eyes were closed and for a moment he feared she was already gone.

"Momma?" he whispered and she forced her eyes open. It looked to be a real struggle.

"My boy." she whispered, raising a hand to beckon him forward. "My beautiful baby boy."

"Momma," Kneeling down next to the bed he grasped his mothers bony hand in his. "I'm hardly a boy anymore." He protested weakly, he couldn't let his mother die thinking he wasn't prepared to be alone in this world. He had to let her know he would be alright but the tremble in his lips couldn't be suppressed and a few teardrops fell, despite how much he blinked them back.

"Oh, it's alright son." she consoled reaching up to try and brush the tears away but she didn't have the strength.

"I'll, I'll be a-alright momma, I want you to know." he looked down at the quilted blanket across her. "I'll be strong, I'll get by."

"I know you will." she said fondly. "You're a lot like your father," she whispered and the boy blanched at the comparison.

"Your father was a good man. And despite what your uncle convinced me of, he loved us both very very much." her words were surprisingly warm.

His mother had been telling him more and more stories about this father since she found out she didn't have much time left.

At first he was angry at the man being constantly mentioned but the more stories she told the more he realized, she was purging herself of some kind of guilt. Some kind of death bed confession.

She sighed deeply, eyes sliding closed as she spoke again. "He and I were so young. Not much older than you are now, when we had you. Tho at first he was shocked when I told him he was the father, he really surprised me by how excited he became." she rolled her head to to side and continued with a soft breathy laugh. "He kept bringing me things every few months. A crib, blankets, food and money. He'd stay for a few days and be gone again. Then he'd come back and bring more money, food and a better crib." she laughed, a motion that sent a shockwave of painful spasms through her body.

As she settled again she opened her eyes. Sad and tearful. "I am so sorry, I took someone away from you who loved you so much." she said.

"It wasn't you." the boy replied, soothingly patting the back of her hand. He reached his other arm up to brush her hair gently as they shared a moment of silence. Her eyes were wet and pleading, begging him to understand something she hadn't ever said before. He could feel the reveal building and he braced himself for some devastating surprise.

"I have lied to you, and I hope someday you will forgive me... but your father never left us." she whispered "He didn't get bored and he wasn't some useless drunk like your uncle says. He was a good man who ran with a man named Dutch Van Der Linde. I want you to remember that name."

She swallowed, turning her head as a racking cough cascaded through her body. A rattling breath filled the room and for a moment the boy thought he was witnessing her last breath.

"Isaac, I need you to promise me you won't stay here with your uncle once I'm gone. Promise me." she spoke around a gasping breath, tho her eyes brightened as he nodded his compliance. "

"A course mama." he whispered not trusting himself to say much more.

"You are, remarkably a lot like your father, you look so much like him. You should have had him in your life, but instead, I allowed your uncle to convince me he was dangerous, that he didn't really love either of us. I, I thought I was protecting you when I agreed to fake our deaths... to put two fake graves in our back yard." She began to cry at the memory passed through her mind. "then he told those in town we were killed for 10 dollars and we moved to live with him... It didn't take long for me to find out it was the worst thing I have ever done and I've regretted it ever since. But seeing the man my brother has become, I won't let you say here with him. Look under the dresser, son. Please, quickly."

He rushed over to the old withered furniture and reached under. He was about to say nothing was there when his hand bumped into some sort of bulky cloth. He pulled it out to find a bag coins.

"I want you to take that and go. GO far away and find your father. Please, promise me."

"Mom!" he shouted, devastation fogging his mind. "We could have used this money for medicine, we could save you!"

"No!" she tried sitting up but without any strength, she just lay flat. "Promise me you'll take the money and RUN!"

"You useless whore." A slurred voice boomed as the door to the room was shoved open. "I knew you had money, you lazy bitch!"

The boy shrunk back against the wall, clutching the bag as his uncle slunk forward. The uncoordinated gate of an alcoholic.

"Gimme, that you little shit." his hand flapped expecting the purse to be handed over immediately.

But this was his mothers, "No," he said firmly.

"Don't you dare hurt my boy!" His mother screamed as his uncle lunged for him. His inebriated reflexes sharper than the boy expected. he found himself on the ground the bag torn open, as his uncle pulled out his pistol and began beating him with the handle.

"NOO!" He heard his mother sobbing as he curled up on the floor. A bloody gash dripping into his eyes and more blows plowed into him. He couldn't prepare for the next onslaught, just coiled protectively in on himself like he always did.

"I said, don't touch HIM!" His mother roared. Somehow she had managed to get out of bed and threw herself at her brother.

He shoved her off and she hit the floor heavily. Her head smacking especially hard. "You thief!" he accused lumbering over to her and Isaac saw white.

He lunged at his uncle with a strength he didn't know he possessed.

He had often imagined a time where he could get his revenge for the many beatings he'd received from this man but at this moment there was no joy or relief like he expected. It was all raw animalistic furry. His fists collided rapidly till a well of blood dripped from the man's mouth and nose, his eyes were beginning to swell shut but still, the boy didn't stop. This was years of not being able to defend himself or his mother against this monster.

The man lay still and Isaac wasn't finished. His arms grew tired as he continued to bash the man's head in. It wasn't until he heard the movements of his mother that he stopped. Fists dripping red as he sat in a pool of blood.

She was crying.

And Isaac realized what he must look like. A mad man, a murderer.

Slowly he climbed off his uncle, keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. He cautiously approached, pulling his mother into a hug. She sagged against him quivering, clutching him as tightly as her frail broken body was capable.

"I am so sorry momma." He whispered against her hair as he began to gently rock back and forth, attempting to soothe her.

She clutched him tighter. "Look for a man named Dutch Van Der Linde... find him and you will find your father, Arthur Morgan... I, I just know he loves you very, veryy.."


	19. Part 3 Chapter 2

The force of the impact had caused an internal brain bleed and Isaac could do nothing to stop the hemorrhage. He could only watch and panic as blood dripped from his mother's ears. He passed a gentle hand brushing her hair out of her face and he trembled as he watched her fade. The pupil in her left eye was blown wide and inky black. The right seemed to dim as her gaze slid from Isaac's face. Slack, unfocused and distant.

He clung to the limp body of his mother as he sobbed. Open and wild, covered in blood. His broken heart scattered around him like the fallen coins of his mother's last gift.

He wailed and roared in agony, angry and afraid.

Long moments passed where his body shuttered as if touched by a cold brutal wind. Finally, he steeled himself and prepared a plan.

The first thing Isaac did was to place his mother's body back on the bed. The second was to dump his uncle's useless corps behind the house and unburdened it of his pistols and gun belt. Halfway through Isaac caught a glimpse of the bashed-in face of his former relative, the bloodied sight causing him to double over puking.

Coming back into the house he washed the blood off his hands. Then he methodically gathered his things, slowly and numb as the doctors promise flowed relentlessly through his mind like a mantra. "I'll be sending someone to pick up the body in the morning." That was only a few hours away at this point and Isaac had to be gone long before anyone came.

Isaac went to the closet and pulled out a blanket, thin and thread barren from when he was a baby but it would serve its purpose. He unrolled it and filled it with clothing and food before folding it up int a tube and wrapping it closed with a rope. He tied the ends together and threw it around one shoulder like a bandoleer.

He scoured the room looking for loose coins for several minutes. Checked the keepsake box and found a picture of him and his mother and tucked it in his pocket. He filled his uncle's saddlebags with food and medical supplies.

He paused at the doorway, taking one last glance around to survey the home he would never see again. He looked to his mother's prone form. Stilled of all movement with new death, and he left.

His uncle's horse waited outside. It was a horse he had always wanted but wasn't allowed to touch, ironic that he was now in possession of it. A beautiful 17 hands high reverse dapple black Stallion thoroughbred named Harlin.

The horse was old, 25... older than him by a lot. Age aside, the animal was still the finest things their family had ever owned.

With one final lingering glance back towards his home he allowed a moment of regret. Not for killing a man but not being able to bury his mother. He pulled at the reign and kicked the horse up into a high gallop. Leaving behind any chance of being found innocent of his crime. He was now an outlaw, just like his father.

He used his mother's stories as a guide for the beginning of his travels. Heading southwest towards Mexico. and paid close attention to town gossip along the way. Eager to pick up on hearsay of the locals.

The opinion of the Van Der Linde gang was conflicted. Some saw them as a Robin Hood band, outlaws with a noble purpose. Others classified them as a scourge of society. The lowest form of humanity. Isaac wasn't in the position to judge, so he didn't.

He spent the remainder of his time carrying out odd jobs for anyone who paid. Catching chickens for an old lady, mucking out stalls at the stables. All to earn a few precious coins so he could gamble them on a thick newspaper. Betting it may hold more clues for the whereabouts of his father.

Unfortunately for him, after the Blackwater massacre, the gang had kept a low profile.

He rationed his coins and food, kept his new pistol in better condition than his uncle ever had. He practiced with it occasionally but it was his horse that was his pride and joy. Any spare change went to spoiling the stallion.

It wasn't until several months later, coin purse and stomach almost empty, that he received his first real lead on the elusive Van Der Linde gang. LAST SEEN OUTSIDE OF VALINTINE the headline read.

Isaac greedily tore open the fresh paper, eyes rapidly flashing through the article as he meandered stiffly over to lean against a nearby fence. He devoured it's contents faster than any paper yet and his excitement blossomed as he realized Valintine was only a few days ride. His excitement peaked further when he read the sighting of Dutch Vander Linde was reported by several credible witnesses. He almost let out a literal 'whoop' when he read this had all happened two days prior.

Isaac felt giddy. An effervescent joy coiled inside of him, threatening to burst. Months of travel and searching and finally he...

"Isaac Montgomery." the Sheriffs voice rumbled and the distinct feel of a rifle muzzle pressed against the small of his back. "Keep your hands where I can see um. You're under arrest for the murder of Eliza and Joseph Montgomery."

Well shit.


	20. Part 3 Chapter 3

The cell door slammed shut and the key screeched locked as Isaac dropped to the dirty cot, as heavy as his grief. He was so close to finding his father but now he was going to hang instead.

His morose thoughts turned to the likely fate of his horse. Too old for much of anything besides the glue factory.

"damn." he whispered bitterly.

"You're telling me." A thin man from the cell next to him agreed. "What you in er for?"

Isaac continued to stare up at the dusty corner of the shabby cell. "Murder," he admitted. There was no use protesting the charges.

"I see." the man mumbled, drifting to the other side of his cell. "Well, if your gonna just admit it like that, no wonder you got caught."

Isaac's cot cried as he rolled over and sighed, deep and resigned.

He had so far failed at everything in life. Protecting his mother, finding his father. He'd never even done anything noteworthy. He lacked any special talent or redeeming quality. He was truly a waste of space. Isaac let himself drown in his depression as people came in and out of the Sheriff's office. Food without smell was placed on the floor for him but it remained untouched, except by the bold rat who ventured to the middle of the room to feast on the hard bread roll.

A man had entered the office and was chatting amicably with the Sheriff as Isaac began to drift off. Tho a muffled shout had him bolted upright quickly enough. He turned just in time to see a stranger in a black duster pull out a knife and ram it up through the Sheriffs skull, through the fleshy part of the throat.

The barbaric act caused a fountain of red to spray and coat the Sheriff's desk completely. The two men struggled a moment longer till the Sheriff succumbed to his blood loss and grew slack. His eyes, frozen wide, frightened and bulging in shocked horror before collapsing in a puddle of rippling blood.

"Alright fellas." The murder began, stripping himself of the drenched duster and dropping it on the floor with a wet plop. He sauntered over to lean against the bars of their prison, like he owned the place. And for the time being, he did. His mustache hung like an uninspired ball sack and his face was just as appealing.

"How'd you boys like to be millionaires?" he offered. "See, I'm in the market for some loyal recruits to help me get the biggest score of our lives and I need fellas like yourselves." He paused, letting his offer sink in. "I already have-"

"How?" The other inmate ventured recklessly cutting the stranger off.

"Ever hear of the Blackwater money? Well, I know where it is. All you have to do is help me get it by collecting on a few bounties. Then we split the reward and go our separate ways."

"What's the catch?" Isaac asked with suspicious caution.

"No catch, at all. All I want is loyalty. And since I'm here to save your rotten lives from the noose, I don't think that's too much to ask. But I can always offer my help to someone else. To others more grateful for my, hospitality. " He said gesturing to the murdered Sheriff on the floor.

"Good luck with the gallows." he laughed as he turned away.

Isaacs blood turned cold as he realized what the man was after. That there was more at stake than just his life. "The Van Der Linde Gang has the Blackwater money." He challenged.

"Your point kid?"

Isaac was at a loss, if this man left, his father was in danger. A target of this mans greed. He lunged at the cell bars. "Bring me with you! I can shoot and I have a horse. You can keep the Blackwater money, I don't care about any of that." His desperation fed his story and he filtered it enough with the truth so that honest conviction would prove his sincerity. "All I care about is finding Arthur Morgan, the man who killed my mother."

"What's your name boy?" the man asked walking back. His hand slowly pulling out the keys he'd managed to snag off the sheriff's desk.

"Isaac..." He froze, there was no way of knowing how much this man knew about the Van Der Linde gang. Especially if he knew them well enough to know how to get the money. What if this man knew Arthur had had a child with a woman with his last name? If he did, then using his mother's name could get them all killed. So he used a name him mother said was only known to those most trusted inside the Van Der Lind gang. "Killgore."

A shocked expression passed the ugly features, quick as a twitch before settling into a sickly sweet false smile.

The door swung open but the man didn't mover to let Isaac pass.

"All that's left to do is tie up the loose ends. Rule number one of being an outlaw, don't leave any witnesses." He fished out a small bowie knife and slid it into Isaac's slackened palm. "come on boy, don't you want revenge?"

Isaac had killed before but this time it was different. When the cell door opened the man cried and clung to the far wall. Isaac stalked forward and tried to mirror the quick murder of the sheriff. A forceful slice through the trachea, up into the throat. The death wasn't as elegant and practiced as the other mans had been and Isaac tried not to cry as he smothered the sounds of the man's broken sobs and pleas.

Eventually, he stilled, just like the sheriff, his uncle and his mother.

"Well, welcome to the team, my boy." The door swung open and this time Isaac was met with a firm handshake. "Names Micah Bell. Glad to have you, Isaac." Micah grinned and clapped him on the shoulder ushering him out the door. "This your gun?" he asked pointing at the belt hanging up just behind the Sheriff's desk.

"Yeah," he answered softly, his thoughts elsewhere. When he was brought in the Sheriff had confiscated his guns and anything he had on him, including the photo of his mother. As Micah tossed him his pistol a strange numbness seemed to fall over him. He knew he'd never be able to look at his mother's face again, so tightening the belt at his waist, he left the photo behind.

As he escaped into the night, Isaac felt more like a prisoner than ever.


	21. Part 3 Chapter 4

Arthur Morgan rolled off his cot in the early hours of the morning, ready for the day. He felt refreshed and rested in ways he hadn't felt in months. His chest felt clear and each experimental deep breath had him smiling gratefully, tho only when no one was looking.

The sun was shining and the sky was blue.

Arthur scurried around camp keeping himself busy by doing as many chores he could get his hands on. Anything to prove to the others he was improved enough to where he could FINALLY step foot outside the camp.

He hauled hay barrels to the horses and sacks of grain to Pearson's wagon, he practically had to tackle the ax out of Charles's hand so he could chop wood and tho he had to dial back the peppy spring in his step, he carried the water over to the cart. The resulting wide damp patch on the outside of his leg didn't detract from his mood at all.

He was healthy and happy and the entire camp seemed to feed off his jovial attitude. Even earning a few well-intended monikers from Uncle for his "youthful exuberance."

Pearson's stew even tasted great and he wolfed it down fast enough that Hosea let him have seconds before he even got his first plate.

"I think our boys going stir crazy," Hosea said watching as Arthur polished off the second helping. "Perhaps there's some way we can help?"

Arthur perked up like a bloodhound smelling its favorite treat and Dutch couldn't help but laugh.

"So you're saying we should give him a job to do?" They were playing coy but Arthur didn't care, he was about to get his way.

"Well, doesn't Pearson need supplies from Strawberry?"

"I don't know, perhaps we should ask him?"

Arthurs pride was the only thing that kept him from snapping. He wasn't about to beg like a kid wanting to go on their first mission. So he settled for a healthy glare at his mentors.

"Aw Arthur we're just messing with you." Hosea chided happily. "Heres the list of supplies, I expect you'll take Charles with you."

"I don't need a babysitter," he growled casting a glance over his shoulder to where Charles was drinking his morning coffee with the Girls.

"If history has shown us anything, I think you do. But if you like being the damsel in distress, then by all means, go alone. I'm sure Charles won't mind riding to your rescue again."

"Fine." Arthur relented, his tone portraying a more sour tone then he felt. "I'll ask," he said getting up from the table.

As casually as he could he approached Charles, wiping his hands on his pants as he did so. "Hey, Charles. I'm ah, heading into town, wanna come?" He struggled not to fidget as Charles gave him an assessing glance.

"You sure that's a good idea? You've only been on your feet for a few days now."

"I managed to wrangle the ax out of your hands, didn't I."

Charles smiled, tipping his head in agreement. "Alright, as long as Hosea and Dutch are ok with it."

"It was there Idea, and why does everyone suddenly think I need a nursemaid?"

Charles gave him a poignant stare as they both walked towards the horses. "Because your luck is the worst of all of us."

"If anything it's karma finally catching up with me."

"Karma isn't always bad."

"It is when you do what we do."

"Exactly, what WE do. Yet your the one who gets the TB scare."

"But it didn't turn out to be TB." Arthur pointed out as he slid into the saddle.

"So we're agreed you do have some good Karma?"

"Sawd up," Arthur growled playfully as they rode leisurely towards Strawberry.

Arthur had good memories of Strawberry. Mostly it was Micah in jail but it was a very happy memory. Overall the town was a nice size, quaint and just big enough to have all the supplies they'd need on hand but not so big as to have a huge law presence. Tho it was a bit too close to Blackwater for Arthurs liking. He fished out the list Hosea had given him and headed towards the general store.

It was a relatively short list this week. Strauss and Pearson had put their heads together and scheduled weekly grocery runs to keep huge expensive trips to a minimum. It seemed to be working, tho the food still tasted like shit.

"I'll meet up with you in a bit," Charles said, veering off on his own. "I'm gonna go get a copy of this morning's post and check the mail."

Arthur waved his consent and began gathering the supplies, as well as a few goodies for the others. Like candy for Jack and some honey sticks for Tilly. She secretly loved those things.

As he checked out at the counter he casually opened the catalog and began perusing the available items. He flipped through faster when the cashier was about done totaling up the supplies. Closing it with a well warn flop as the price of the last item was added.

Arthur was about to dig into his pocket for the cash when he saw it. Behind the counter, nestled in a velvet lined case. A gold harmonica. Immediately his thoughts turned to Charles. He could vividly imagine him bringing it to life in the warm glow of the crackling campfire. The beautiful tone he'd be able to create from it. The smile it would bring to Charles's face. Soft, genuine and carefree. Charles would certainly love that he thought wistfully.

"Say how much for that?" he asked.

"Oh, this? We just got it in today." The store clerk said scratching the side of his chin like he had mange. "It was a mistake, should have been sent to Saint Denise but here it is. Finest German-made craftsmanship, real gold too. Beautiful thing, one of a kind man-made. You won't find anything like it ever again." he said sliding the item towards Arthur. "the price is pretty steep tho. $300."

Arthur hummed as he lifted the instrument. Elegant engravings stretched to every available surface. A complex tapestry of ribbons flowed down and around, over and under making the item not just beautiful, but art. Made Arthur wish that even he knew how to play.

Arthur thumbed through his wallet checking how much cash he had on hand. "I can only do 250, that ok?"

"Unfortunately I can not. It's a bargain at that price Mister."

"Alright, understandable," Arthur said, loath to have to place it back in the velvet box. "Maybe some other time." he consoled himself as he paid for his items. "Have a nice evening," he called as he passed through the doors.

Outside he set about finding Charles. His mood dampened further when he saw the deep frown across his face.

"What happened?"

"Went to the post office and found a letter for Dutch... from Micah."

Arthur growled in frustration as he skimmed over the note. "He wants to meet up where we met up with Colm that time."

"There's more," Charles said, his voice dropping. "Don't look, but we're being followed."

Arthur sighed, it was fortunate Charles was here with him since he's probably the only one who would have noticed this.

"This isn't a coincidence Arthur. Whoever is following us knows about the letter."

"You think Micah is scheming some kind of revenge for kicking him out?"

"Maybe. It's your call Arthur. Should we draw them out and take care of them?"

"How many are there?"

"Three I think."

Arthur pondered his options for a moment. Quickly peacing the information he had on hand. "No, I have a better idea."


	22. Part 3 Chapter 5

The Bell gang was about what Isaac expected. Ruthless, cutthroats that swore and spit and wrestled with each other as boldly as any man with a death wish. Which was exactly what they all were.

Almost everyone in the camp was a recent addition to the gang. Apparently, Micah's goal was quantity of members over the quality of members. Several were found like he was, saved from hanging by Micah himself. A few may have known Micah from other gangs but the majority were all that remained of the O'Driscol gang. At least that meant there weren't any senior members to answer to, with the exception of Micah of course. Everyone else just sorta fought for their place like wolves in a pack.

Isaac didn't sleep a lick the first night. Anytime his eyes drifted closed he saw a kaleidoscope of bloodied faces. Ones with the heads bashed in or the throats slit. Throats wide and gaping open like goldfish mouths. Tendons and bone, stringy and white, shining starkly against a carpet of scarlet. And as he bolted awake, he was chased by the echoed screams and cries of the dead.

He shivered in the cold sweat of the warm night. Sticky with guilt. As the sun rose in the morning he sat on the edge of camp near Harlin, watching it rise. He wondered if the Van Der Linde camp was just like this. Cold and unpredictable. Is this a life he could ever get used to? Should he even be here? but even if he managed to escape he was running away like a coward, allowing his own father to walk right into a trap.

Harlin whickered softly and lipped at his blond sweaty hair. He didn't even shove him away, too lost in thought.

What loyalty did he owe his father tho? According to his mother, this Arthur Morgan, loved him. Or would have if things were different. It was hard to imagine anyone loving him at this point. Considering all that he'd done. But his father was a notorious outlaw. Becoming a legend for his brutality even in the shadow of Dutch Van Der Linde. Perhaps the many murders wouldn't sour their relationship but build it? Isaac couldn't stand that idea. With the finality of a lighting strike straight to his core, he detested it. Murder was not something to bond over. To gloat about it as these outlaws did. Swapping gory tales around a smoky fireside.

But what else did he have at this point? He was a wanted man, probably wanted dead or alive. He chuckled bitterly at the thought his bounty had probably gone up to 75 or even 100 dollars since his escape from jail. If his father found out, would he try to cash in on his bounty? To trade a nuisance like him for a reward?

Isaac teared up at the thought of betrail. The betrail of a man who probably wouldn't give two shits about him. He was so invested in the idea of this man already. Secretly wishing some hero father would come save him from this wretched life he'd fallen into. but deep down he knew Arthur Morgan was even more likely to kill him than any man in the Bell gang.

"Isaac." someone called, pulling him from his thoughts. "We're getting ready for the mission."

"I'm coming." he assured, standing on shaking feet. Earning him a mocking laugh.

"Did the little doe-eyed boy lose his nerve?"

Isaac turned, fear warning him to be respectful but a man could only take so much before they broke. "I said I'm coming." he spat causing the smirk to drop into a glare.

"Wanna watch that mouth of yours boy?" the outlaw challenged. But Isaac was an outlaw too.

"Wanna watch yours?" He spat, and the ensuing gut-punch had him rolling in the dirt before he knew he'd been hit. He groaned into the dust as another kick tucked into his side and a spurred boot stomped solidly on his head. This was a different level of fighting than his uncle usually delt him. The unbridled swiftness and furry made his uncle look kind in comparison. Like the man had been holding back all that time.

"What's the matter little doe? That all you got?" Isaac growled helplessly as he was pinned to the ground. A final punch colliding with his cheek.

The man laughed as he gave one last shove before he got up and walked away. His back turned seemed to spark something in Isaac. An opening. Any voice of reason was gone as he scrambled over to lunged at the man. "I'm not some LITTLE DOE!"

One moment he was wrapped around the man's back and the next he was ragdoll'd to the ground, whipped off by the force of the man's twisting. As soon as he fell, two large hands picked him up by his coat and hurled him into the air. Landing hard in the center of camp. He didn't have time to get up before he was tackled again. "You wanna play with the big guns?"

Cheers from the camp began to spring up as people, including Micah, began goating the two on.

"Well come on, LITTLE DOE. Fight!" The others called, a half-circle forming around them as his opponent backed off to give him room to rise.

As Isaac stood they both raised fists and began to circle each other.

"All right little Doe, I'll even let you land the first hit." the other said playfully slapping his own cheek, offering the golden opportunity to gain the upper hand. Too late to back out now, Isaac went for it. Clocking the man solidly in the face.

"Not bad kid, but no one ever taught you how to fight. You need to put your shoulder into it, like this!"

* * *

Isaac woke up where he had dropped to someone nudging him with a dirty boot.

"Get up."

His head felt like it had exploded. Tenderly reaching up he wiped at a think patch of blood from the corner of his mouth. He coughed and gagged as his head rang with a throbbing headache.

Isaac gingerly sat up, cradling his head as his stomach threatened to evacuate.

"Everyone's gone on the mission but you've got a job to do and I'm not going to ask you again, get up."

Mission?... The Van Der Linde ambush! "What do you mean they left?" he demanded. Hobbling to his feet and staggering over to the only other occupant of the camp.

"Well, youse was passed out as we discussed our roles, so you got left with being an errand boy."

"But I was supposed to go with Micah to meet Arthur Morgan!"

"And you would have if you weren't such a little runt. How do you honestly expect to get revenge on the right-hand man of the Van Der Lind when you can't even handle Joe?"

Isaac scoffed, his temper flaring once again.

"Now none of that kid, this here's an important mission for ya. Micah wants you to take that giant horse of yours and deliver this to the second camp and assist with the raid."

"Second camp? What raid?" Isaac didn't even know there was a second camp.

"Gosh, you are daft, kid."

"I'm not daft, I'm just new." he spat.

The man gave him a heated glare that clearly said 'watch it boy' before he continued. "Micah has two camps, us, the ones who are going to ambush Van Der Linde. And the second, the ones who will descend on the Van Der Linde base camp and slaughter everyone."

Isaac froze. "I thought Micah just wanted the bounties. Why attack the base camp?"

"Cause kid, Micah doesn't just want to collect on the reward but completely defeat Dutch Van Der Linde. Now get going." He said passing him a note. "This is the location of the Van Der Linde Base camp. Deliver it to the second camp, they are just northeast of Emerald Ranch passed the railroad tracks. Now get going before I'm forced to do it."

Isaac took the note with a sense of relief. So long as he kept it from the second camp, then the Van Der Linde main camp would be ok.

"Where is the first camp going to ambush the Van Der Linde gang?" he pressed, slipping the page into his jeans pocket.

"kid." the other threatened half exasperated.

"This is my one chance at revenge. Once I deliver the message, where can I find the first camp?"

The man sighed. "Fine kid, it's by an abandoned oil well in the heartlands. In the middle of the wide-open country, surrounded by tall cliffs. Perfect for an ambush. I'm riding out now but the parle has probably already started, if not finished already. So I don't know what good it'll do ya t-"

BANG-

Without allowing time for regret, Isaac holstered his pistol as the man he shot, square in the chest, crumbled to the ground. He ignored the frozen expression, the look of shock on the man's face as he passed.

Isaac rode Harlin at a breakneck pace. Darting around slow-moving pedestrians and leaving their cursing and shouts in the dust behind him. Rushing through the expanse of grassy plain, hoping against all hope he wasn't too late.

He slowed as he reached the top of a grassy knoll and there, open and vulnerable, was a small group of three people.

"Come on boy, harder, we're almost there."

Isaac dashed straight for the group. As he neared he was able to make out the glossy black coat of Micah Bell. And in front of him, a man he'd only seen on wanted posters, Dutch Van Der Linde and guarding his back, stood none other than Arthur Morgan.


	23. Part 3 Chapter 6

Isaac rode up with his heart in his lungs, everyone looking at him with various levels of confusion.

"Kid, what the hell are you doing here?" Micah hissed.

Saying nothing, Isaac got off his horse. He took a few greedy seconds to pass a hand along Harlin's sweating, panting neck. Isaac now stood directly between a firing squad and the lead members of one of the most notorious gangs of the wild west. He knew there was no real way he was going to get out of this alive, wasn't even going to pretend anymore. Dutch Van Der Linds didn't know he could trust him and the moment Isaac revealed Micah's plot, well, he'd be shot through the skull by one of the snipers.

"Boy!" Micah demanded again.

Finally, Isaac turned Harlin away and slapped him hard on the ass. Sending the horse fleeing to safety. Things were about to get really bloody really quick.

If he had more time he would have marveled at how far he'd come in such short about of time. Only a few months ago he was an abused but sheltered teenager. And now he was about to do the bravest thing of his entire life.

He squared off with Micah, and the man glared back. Hands twitching for his guns. Time to bite the bullet, he just hoped he wouldn't have to do it literally. "this entire arrangement is a trap." he revealed boldly. "There are snipers high on the cliffs waiting for Micah to give the signal to take you all out."

"You bastard." Micah sneered, taking a large step back. With all the theatrics of a grand magician, he raised his hand and made a slicing motion across his neck.

A half a second passed before Micah repeated the movement, this time facing the cliffs.

"You see my boy," Dutch said smoothly, directing Isaac's attention to him. "we came completely prepared for Micah's treachery."

"My treachery?" Micah spat. "Last I recall, YOU were the one to cast me aside because your little brat got jealous."

"However you choose to remember things is fine by me." Dutch soothed, blinking slowly.

"There's more!" Isaac shouted drawing out the page detailing where the other camp was. "He's also set up a raid for your main camp. He's got another gang watching them, ready to wipe them all out!"

"Is that so?" Dutch replied as he casually took the offered page. He opened it and smiled. "Arthur, you were right all along. About everything it seems." He half-turned to give Arthur an approving nod. "You see son, not many can sneak past the eagle eye of Arthur Morgan but absolutely no one can fool our Mr. Smith. We were in the process of moving camps after I was sighted outside of Valentine, so it really was no trouble to lead them back to our old camp and set it up as a decoy. Completely empty, unless you count the repurposed scarecrows and old tarps, that is."

Isaac was gobsmacked, "You were... prepared for everything?"

"Not only that," Dutch said gently laying his large hand on Isaac's shoulder. "We even left an anonymous tip with the Pinkertons. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. After today, there will be fewer gangs and lawmen to chase us." Dutch offered him a friendly smile and made a subtle signal toward the same cliffs Micah had. And Isaac realized Dutch must have his own men up there. That somehow Dutch had been one step ahead of them all by outflanking Micah's ambush with one of his own.

"Well," Micah spat. "there's one thing you had absolutely no way of accounting for." Isaac felt his collar yanked back, pulling him out of Dutch's grasp and the cold chamber of Micha's revolver came to rest at the side of his head.

Isaac risked a glance to see the man was seething. Practically foaming at the mouth.

"Threatening to shoot your own man is certainly a creative tactic I grant you." Dutch drolled. "but I fail to see how it would affect me."

"Always pretending, Dutch." Micha sneered, adjusting his hold over Isaac so it was even tighter. "But you never see the big picture, do you?" He let out a maniacal laugh as he shook Isaac roughly.

"This kid was arrested for the murder of his mother, Eliza Montgomery. Ain't that right, Isaac?"

"Just what are you-"

"Remember what you told me about Arthur's woman?" Micah said talking over Dutch. "At first I thought it may just be a coincidence, but when I broke him out of jail, the fake last name he used was Killgore. Sound familiar?"

"Sounds like a lot of circumstantial evidence." Dutch challenged, but his patience was finally showing a bit of wear as his prominent brows pinched in.

"Tell um Isaac!" Micah shouted. "Tell them all who's bastard son you are."

Isaac never really planned how he would reveal his identity to his father but at gunpoint was not how he ever imagined it. But even so, as he locked eyes with his father he saw what his mother had talked about. The same wispy blond hair and blue eyes as his own. and tho the man in front of him, gun raised and scowl fixed, was much bigger than him, it was like looking into a glimpse of the future. Some other version of himself, and he was awwed by how recognizable he was. Tho Isaac had no real memory of the man, he saw so much of his past. Someone wild and hardened by life, yet he held an eir of surety. Someone who wasn't evil but who did what had to be done and acted within the limits of some personal moral code.

The boy breathed in a calming breath as he took in the brief vision of someone he wanted to someday be. Not an outlaw, but the protective right-hand man of a modern-day Robin Hood.

"My name is Isaac Morgan." he said and the blue eyes he looked into widened a fraction but gave nothing else away except that something was felt by the man.


	24. Part 3 Chapter 7

"My name is Isaac Morgan."

Arthur froze. This was impossible. Isaac was dead, Eliza was dead. He saw the graves he talked to the townspeople. They assured him, they were dead.

"I had big plans for him Arthur." Micha gloated, stretching the words out playfully. "He's a real chip off the old block. How many people have you killed this week, kid? Three, four?" Micha laughed. It wasn't forced or mocking but honest and gleefull. A sound of victory despite how thoroughly they had thwarted his plans, Micha was still so convinced he had won.

Arthur subconsciously tightened his grip on his shotgun and zeroed in on the kid, his supposed son.

The kid looked to be a million emotions at once. On the verge of hyperventilating, eyes wide and bloodshot. Black and blue bruising decorated the side of his face and tho he had a pistol in his holster, he didn't seem aware it was in reach. In fact, he didn't seem focused on what was currently happening to him at all. His expression lost and fogged over, likes his mind was elsewhere. He looked young and scrawny. 14 or 15 but he was at that age where malnourishment could also play a factor in how old he looked. So it was just as likely he was 16 or 17. Arthur tried not to distract himself by figuring out how old Isaac would be now. He shoved the thought aside.

This couldn't be Isaac.

But as he looked at the kid his true identity became irrelevant. He was enough like how Isaac could be and he was held at gunpoint by none other than Micah 'the snake' Bell.

"What do you want Micah?" he challenged in a low somber growl.

Prompting Dutch to turn and look at him with open disbelief. "Arthur, you can't seriously think-"

"I said," he spoke over Dutch. "What do you want?"

Micah laughed again but this time more for show. It lacked any real humor.

"Firstly, I want all Dutch's boys down from those cliffs, then I wanna see all of you ride off into the sunset."

"What happens to the boy?"

"Finders keepers, cowboy."

"No." Arthur shouted stone-faced. His words seemed to spook something inside the kid. Like he was reliving some horrific event of his past and Arthur's words had triggered something. A memory? The boy's eyes became more focused and his expressionless vacant. His posture changed subtly, his arm moving so that his fingertips could gently caress the pistol at his side.

"I could just put a bullet into him right now."

"If you do, we put a bullet through you." Dutch threatened for which Arthur was grateful.

"Well, it appears we are at an impasse."

"Then take me." Arthur volunteered, lowering his weapon. "Leave the kid and I'll leave my weapons and go with you peaceably."

"Arthur no." Dutch argued quickly. Impulsively side-stepping between Micah and Arthur. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder before facing Micah again. "You can't honestly be that gullible Arthur. It's a trick, he's not your son. He's not Issac."

"Then tell um boy," Micha said as he shook the kid, Isaac. "Tell um about your ma, how you killed her."

Isaac gulped hard and shivered, tightening his grip on his pistol. "I didn't kill her." His voice shook but gradually gained strength with each passing word. His eyes now completely clear, bore into Arthur.

"She loved you, till the day she died she loved you. She, she didn't want to go but my uncle convinced her it wasn't safe, that we were in danger because of who my father was. A murderous outlaw. You." He shook his head and glared before continuing. "I hated you for so long. He told me you left us. That's why my uncle had to step up and take care of us, because YOU abandoned her."

Like a bolder gaining momentum rolling downhill, his voice gained in strength and anger as he continued. Micah's gun at his headlong forgotten."My uncle promised to take her to New York but instead he just kept her away in a cabin in the middle of nowhere because she had a bastard son out of wed lock! He said she was an embarrassment, a disgrace! He forced her to work, she'd sew dresses for pennies a day. Day in and day out. And if she got behind or I miss behaved, he'd lock me in the storage shed without food for weeks at a time. I survived by eating the bark of the walls and drinking rusty water that dripped in during the rain. And all while he got drunk. He'd come in and beat her, beat us!"

Tears had begun to fall and his body slackened again. His eyes dropped to the dusty ground as he continued. "When she got sick she, she knew she wasn't going to get better, she started telling me what really happened. Stories he wouldn't let her tell."

"Then one night he came in as she was giving me money and trying to convince me to run away." He hiccuped around a sob. "He hit her, threw her to the floor and I just couldn't stop him! I was so angry, I, I just grabbed him and I hit him."

Isaac shook his head as if trying to shake the memory free. To escape its horrors. "I, I couldn't stop, I just keep hitting him. He stopped moving and I just couldn't stop. I tried to save her, I really did but... the last thing my mother ever saw me do was kill a man." Isaac finally lifted his head to look back at Arthur. "Her last words, were to find you. That you, that you..."

Whatever words she had said to him refused to be spoken, too caught up in the web of memory and emotion to be given a coherent voice. The kid had completely unraveled at this point, the emotional tole of his life crushing him under guilt and grief.

"And who else did you kill?" Micah whispered into the broken boy's ears and Arthur wanted nothing more than to cut off the serpent's tongue.

"I, I killed the witness in the jail, the guy at camp and... and..." without warning Isaac lifted his, pistol and blindly pointed it behind him, and squeezed the trigger. The shot was point-blank, too close to be anything but a bullseye. The bullet obliterating Micah's face.

Isaac sagged as the body rolled off him to the ground. He couldn't help but look at the new corps he'd made. The now-familiar numbness slowly seeping back into him as his entire world narrowed down to the fourth person he'd murdered.

He couldn't look away as Micah's body remained still.

Finally, someone stepped between them. Forcing him to break off contact. No words were spoken as his father knelt in front of him. Isaac tried to speak as warm arms wrapped around him and encircled him, drawing him forward. Arthur Morgan held him tightly, allowing the fog of numbness to dissipate and instead be filled with actual grief. Isaac found himself tugging at the tan leather jacket trying to press closer as he cried onto his chest.


	25. Part 3 Chapter 8

"Arthur, a word," Dutch called as the rumble of horse hooves came near.

Isaac looked up helplessly as his father untangled himself fom him.

"Charles," Arthur called as he made his way over to Dutch, "I need you to keep an eye on him a minute. Alright?"

"Alright Arthur." came a deep yet concerned voice.

Isaac couldn't help the stab of betrail as he watched the man walk away. Dutch eyeing him from over his father's shoulder. A look of pinched in distain had Isaac finching away like he would in the glare of a hungry wolf.

He finched in further as he realized Dutch's pack had him surrounded.

Out of the corner of his eye, a dirty gray rifle muzzle swayed inches from the ground. Held casually in the grasp of a dark-skinned man. Isaac couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye. Instead he stared at the ground, all the while he strained his ears to pick up scraps of conversation between Dutch and his father.

"...no." was all he could pick up. His heart dropping out and his lower lip threatened to tremble but he steadfastly kept it in check.

"Alright boy." someone growled. Surprising Isaac with the cold chamber of a gun nudging his chin up. He couldn't hide his fear as he looked up into the dark unforgiving eyes of Dutch Van Der Linde. "You have any proof you are who you say you are?"

His throat came up dry and he chuffed before shaking his head.

Dutch sneered looking back to Arthur. "See, you said yourself, Micah isn't to be trusted. Yet that's all we can go off of for this boy."

"Dutch, I know you're upset with Micah but..." Arthur floundered. "Damit Dutch. I'm not saying he is or he isn't. I'm just sayin let's bring him with."

"So we can bring a new rat into the gang? Someone specifically designed to manipulate YOU?" Dutch challenged and Arthur looked away.

Isaac could feel the tension in the air as the gange fidgeted nervously at Dutch's words.

They'd leave him behind? Isaac thought fearfully. He'd come so far and gone through so much only to find himself on the precipice of being abandoned again. Feverisously he though back to any sort of proof he had.

"Sir?" he whispered tentatively before clearing his voice to try again. "Um, I don't have it with me but when I was arrested, before Micah found me, I had a picture of my mother." Dutch's glare intensified to outright hatred. "T-the the sheriff took it from me and I never got it back. But it's there, I promise."

"Where were you arrested?"

"Annesburg," he said, eyes drifting to his father's warn boots. "I left my saddle pad behind the stables too. Didn't have time to properly tack up before I left," he added lamely.

"Alright," Arthur said nodding to Dutch. "I'll go to Annesburg and get the photo. That would at least give credence to his story."

"I'll go with." Isaac looked up to see a man with three parallel scars along his cheek, walk over to Arthur. "don't rightly know what's going on but steeling from a sheriff doesn't exactly sound like a one-person job."

"Be careful." Isaac cautioned quickly, "Micah killed the sheriff when he broke me out of jail."

To the boy's surprise, Arthur laughed bitterly. "Typical." he muttered under his breath. "so it's settled, John and I'll go to Annesburg and bring back any proof... " for a minute it looked like he was going to say more but trailed off.

Dutch sighed in defeat. "Alright, but I want you both back in no less than three days. It's still possible this is a setup."

Arthur nodded as "John" brought his horse up beside him.

But instead of mounting his horse, Arthur walked past Isaac to the man with the rifle pointed to the ground. "Charles, I want you to keep an eye on him while I'm gone, he's ah..."

Isaac looked up at him, eyes meeting as Arthur turned to him. "H, his name is Isacc Morgan." He said softly, maintaining eye contact and watching as Isaac's body relaxed and a week smile played across is features.

Tho the gang froze in shock, Isaac felt relieved. His father hadn't abandoned him, hadn't denied him. In fact, he was heading into danger to prove Isaac was telling the truth.

"Be careful" he said softly. Wanting so much to call him 'pa' but instinctively he knew it would infuriate Dutch, so he kept quiet.

Arthur nodded quickly before turning back the Charles. "Keep an eye on him. Make sure he, that he..."

"I will Arthur," Charles assured gently, reaching up to grip Arthur's shoulder. Something seemed to pass between them and Arthur relaxed a bit before he too reached up to rest his hand on Charles'.

Eventually, the two broke apart and Arthur let out a whistle that called a sturdy mustang to him.

"We have no proof he is who he claimes to be." Dutch growled as Arthur mounted up. "And in the absence of proof, no one will refer to him as Isaac Morgan." Isaac watched as his father frowned deeply.

"Well," Isaac ventured happily, fueled by a cheeky recklessness brought on by finally meeting his father. "I gave Micah a fake name, so if you want you could use that in the meantime."

"What name was that?"

"Isaac Killgore."

And Isaac's world grew brighter as he saw his pa laugh. "You may want to keep him out of Dutch's way." Arthur said smiling at Charles as he nudged his horse up the dusty trail towards Annenberg. "We'll see you in a few days. Try to stay out of trouble."


	26. Part 3 Chapter 9

A cloth bandanna covered his eyes but it likely wouldn't have made any difference since they had taken far to many turns for Isaac to have any idea of where they were.

He simply clung to Charles as he blindly bounced along like a saddlebag. His only comfort was the occasional mouthing at his shirt as Harlin trotted beside him.

As Charles helped him dismount he took off the blindfold and cast his eyes around to find the camp was tucked back in the hollow of a cave. Perhaps somewhere in the grizzlies or dense part of Roanoke Ridge.

It reminded him of the cabin he and his mother lived in. Hidden away in seclusion by the tall trees of the forest, like a secret never to be told.

When they arrived, Isaac was curious to see not only elderly men but women and even a child were apart of the Van Der Linde crew. Isaac found the idea strangely appealing.

"Come on," Charles said softly. "I'll show you around."

Charles seemed to have infinite patience for Isaac's nervous tendencies. Tendencies even he didn't know he possessed to such a degree. Tho he was always defensive, his short time with the Bell gang had left him jumpy at any fast movement and suspicious of any kindness.

A free bowl of soup was pushed into his hands but despite how hungry he was, he was too skeptical and paranoia to eat. That is until Charles dipped his own spoon into Isaac's bowl to demonstrated it was edible.

Isaac stuck to him like glue after that.

No one beside Charles really paid him any mind. It didn't seem like people knew what to make of him and he couldn't really blame them.

At night he lay awake staring up at the stars, wondering if he'd ever see his father again. The thought that Arthur may not have a safe return stewed just under his skin and worried his stomach into knots. It was almost dawn when Charles got up.

"You sleep at all?" he asked casually as they carried the bags of meal over to the food wagon.

"Yeah." he lied simply but poignantly ignored Charles studying him.

"You're a lot like him." He said eventually and Isaac perked up. did Charles believe him?

"You both lie the same."

Isaac didn't know what that meant but it made him cheer up a bit as he continued with the other camp chores.

"Mr. Killgor." an elderly woman, Mis Grimshaw, called out to him. "It may well be that you remain with us for quite some time and I'll not have you stinking up my camp." She groused marching over to where he stood helping Charles gather the freshly chopped wood. "When was the last time you bathed? Or have you ever?" She challenged.

"Um, I." he stuttered.

"No matter. You're filthy enough that nothing but the river will do. I've already talked to Mr. Van Der Linde and Mr. Mathues and they've agreed it would be alright for you to go bath in the river, provided you're accompanied by Mr. Smith that is."

* * *

Isaac shivered as he sunk into the steady water of a wide river. He didn't know how to swim but the current wasn't strong or deep enough to make him worry. He was about to climb back into his dirty close when Charles handed him a fresh pair of clean pants and a shirt.

"They may be a bit big but you'll grow into them."

Isaac dressed quickly to find Charles leaning against a tree, a journal open on his lap.

"Thank you Mr. Smith." he offered politely.

"You'll have to thank the girls when we get back, They're the ones who made them for you."

Made them, for him? He couldn't help but look down at the clean linens again. The cream shirt billowed out around him but fit him nicely at the arms. The pants gathered at his waist, begging for a belt, but didn't have any patches or frayed edges. He smoothed the sleeve of one arm and looked back up at Charles to see the man already looking at him.

"Why are you all being so nice to me? You don't have any proof I am who I say I am." He pointed out. Regretting his words immediately. The last thing he wanted was to make Charles suspicious. "It's just," he tried to recover.

"You're right," Charles spoke up. "We don't know who you are, just as you don't really know who we are but I saw how you risked your life to save us, to save those at camp. You were brave enough to stand between Dutch and Micah and even saved your horse by sending him away. That was one of the most heroic things I've ever witnessed."

Isaac blushed under the compliment, "Except, you were prepared for the ambush. Even had time to set up a decoy camp, I tried to, but I didn't save anybody."

Charles paused for a moment, considering his words or perhaps just considering Isaac. "Yes you did." he continued in all seriousness. "you saved yourself. Don't ever look on that as if it was nothing."

For some reason his words hit someplace raw within Isaac and he bit back on his lip so it didn't wabble. His thoughts drifted to what had transpired to get him to where he was. He'd tried his best to save his mother, the Van Der Linde camp, his father. But not once had he even believed it was really possible for him to be saved, so he didn't even try. Now even more so, he was a lost cause, a murder. He visibly cringed as he thought the words.

"I don't wanna kill ever again." he blurted, his mouth working without permission.

Charles didn't appear disappointed or shocked by the honest reveal. He patted the ground beside him and Isaac sat down in its place.

"That is admirable." Charles consoled. "but we all need to pay our own way, especially in a gange. Do you have any dreams, Isaac? If you don't want to be an outlaw, what do you want to do with your life?" the words were gentle as a lullaby.

Isaac thought over his abilities and tho he didn't have many, there was one thing that lit a passion in him. "I, I love horses. I like being around them. I wanna be a trainer." He watched as Charles nodded along.

Tilting his head back Charles sighed. "Horses will always be necessary in this world. The well trained will always be sought after and paid well for." He closed his journal before continuing. "Perhaps it would be good for everyone to have an honest and steady income for a change?" He pondered rhetorically. After a heartbeat he glanced at Isaac and smiled approvingly. "Arthur is good with horses as well."

Isaac looked away as a giddy hopefull feeling took root in his soul. What if he didn't have to kill? That he could be apart of the gang and still be with his father.?

He rested his head against the steady tree at his back as Charles pulled out an old beat up Harmonica and began playing. The low melody assended, threaded itself into the tapestry of branches of the tree limbs overhead. Isaac relaxed in the shade and basked in the tune till finally, he drifted off into a pleasant sleep.


	27. Part 3 Chapter 10

Isaac woke to the snapping sound of a fire. He blinked blurrily as he sat up, a blanket falling off him as he did so.

"ah, you're awake." someone greeted. Isaac was shocked to find Hosea smiling at him from across the campfire.

"What, where am I?" he asked disoriented. Judging by how dark it was, it must have been several hours past sunset. Tho his eyes weren't focused enough tell much beyond that.

"You're back at camp," Hosea answered simply. "Charles brought you back. Should've seen Mis Grimshaw fussing over you. She thought you drowned in the river."

"No, I'm fine," Isaac assured, wondering where Charles was but too insecure to voice it.

"You were out like the dead." He continued casually, "made us wonder when it was you had last slept." the man eyed him in the same nonchalant way as before but a guarded intensity to it made Isaac wonder if he was genuinely asking. That the casualty was a facade and in truth, he was... concerned? Why would he be concerned?

Isaac rubbed his eyes and jumped as a bowl of food was suddenly held out to him.

"Sorry Amego, didn't mean to startle you." A Hispanic man, Javier, offered, setting the bowl down at Isaac's feet.

"Um, no that's fine," Isaac assured again. He looked at the bowl and then up at Javier and across to Hosea, looking for an answer.

"Well, if you let it go cold it'll be a waste and you'll have to pay for it." Hosea said, a crooked smile played across his face as Isaac immediately began to dig in. He was swallowing the last lump of potato as Charles sat down beside him and reminded him to chew... and to breath.

Isaac looked up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and was about to apologize for his poor manners when the firelight caught the faint movement of a man with a tan jacket. Arthur was back! he thought excitedly.

Isaac found himself dashing across the camp in about three large steps to greet him. "Pa." he called. The words naturally slipping out before he could think better of it.

Arthur froze, shock written clear across his face but remained silent.

"Isaac!" Isaac flinched as his name cracked sharply around him like a whip. Slowly Isaac looked up to see the Van Der Lind Leader glaring down at him. The echoed vitriol rattled around Isaacs's head as Isaac looked at the man. "A word please," Dutch said as he stood at the mouth of his tent. His tone a sharp and disapproving.

Confused and a bit frightened, Isaac turned back to his father. The shock had drained away and something more terrifying replaced it... grief. And Isaac knew without needing to be told. They weren't able to find his mother's picture.

Isaac swallowed a lump swelling in his throat as a warm hand rested on his shoulder. Looking back, Isaac saw Hosea. The older man had a weary but kind smile. "Come on. We need to discuss a few things."

Isaac felt like he was splitting in two as he turned to watch his father turn away. Arthur's shoulders hunched and head bowed. On either side of him was Charles and John, twin expressions of concern and sadness. Clearly, Dutch had ordered Arthur to keep his distance.

The tent closed behind him and Isaac was ushered into a chair, Hosea and Dutch seated across from him. "Judging by your expression you know what happened, or rather what didn't." Dutch said liting his pipe. He gave a few experimental puffs as Isaac nodded.

Dutch let out a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair. A few moments passed without much movement or any conversation. Only the occasional breeze against the tarp made any notable sound.

"It's there, I know it is." he whispered almost to quiet to hear even in the silence. "Where would they have put it?"

Dutch exhaled deeply through his nose as he thought. "If it exists and it's not at the Sheriff's office, then it's probably been handed over to the FBI."

Isaac worried at his lip. The FBI wasn't some country bumpkin law enforcement. They were the federal government.

"Do you have any other proof," Dutch pressed. "Anything at all to prove your story."

Isaac shook his head. "I'm sure my ma's cabin has been emptied by now."

Hosea cleared his throat as if to speak but Dutch cut him off. "I am really sorry, Isaac. Truly I am, but Micah's devious manipulation almost destroyed us once and I'll not risk it again. I'm sorry, but come morning you'll be taken to a nearby town a left."

"Dutch," Hosea protested. "He's just a boy."

"A boy who ran with Micah." Dutch's tone was sharp, teetering on the edge of losing his temper. "And we all know Micah is not above this kind of manipulation. Do you really want to risk losing Arthur because we couldn't see what cunning plan Micah laid out for him?"

"Because he killed Micah." Hosea spat, leaning forward on his seat with both hands clenching at his knees. "don't you think if Micah was really this much of a 'cunning mastermind', he would have avoided his own death."

Dutch just and crossed his legs, drawing himself away from Hosea. "All that means is this kid is capable of betraying a fellow gang member and gang leader. Hosea, think. All we can go off of is the word of a boy-"

"Who came to our defense when Micah threatened our people." Hosea cut him off.

"So he says, my friend. So he says." Dutch's words rumbled low and foreboding and the room lapsed back into silence.

Isaac's heartbeat thundered against his chest as Hosea leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm telling you right now, Dutch. You send this boy away you'll lose Arthur for sure."

Dutch crossed his legs and recrossed them as he considered Hosea's words and for the first time showing a twinge of uncertainty. "I'm trying my best Hosea."

"I know Dutch." Hosea sighed.

Dutch turned back to Isaac and gave a sigh of his own. "I want to believe you, I do... but I have a camp full of people to consider. To keep safe. We have already had a traitor among our gang before. If there was any way-"

"My grave." Isaac said suddenly. "it's empty! We'll just dig it up and..."

"Grave robbing isn't exactly an uncommon occurrence." Dutch pointed out and Isaac deflated. It was well-known doctors would pay for abandoned graves to be dug up so the bodies could be experimented on or used for educational purposes. Even Isaac, being as sheltered as he was, had heard about it.

"We will leave you with a few provisions of course and some money to get you started." Dutch continued. "It should also interest you to know that Arthur has graciously paid off your bounty. Tho I'd still recommend you refrain from visiting any large towns for a few days or so. Give them time to collect all of these." Dutch said sliding over a crumpled and torn-up wanted poster with Isaac's face and name on it.

"I also need to ask you to stay away from Arthur, I'm sorry Isaac but it's for the best."

Isaac felt dazed as he left the tent. Floating around in some kind of 'out of body experience' as he meandered, foggy-headed, around the camp.

Tho he was supposed to keep his distance, Isaac could help but look for his father.

Arthur sat on his cot, head in his hands as Charles and John hovered close by. It warmed Issac to know there were people who cared for his father in such a way, and it sent a tingle of jealousy mixed with equal parts sadness and loneliness, to know no one had ever cared for him like that. The truth is he was alone. Without proof, he was viewed as a threat to the Van Der Linds, to Arthur.

Despite how much he had slept that day, Isaac felt drained. He laid down on his blanket by the fire and thought over the last time he had slept so soundly. It certainly wasn't when he was with Micah or on his own, paranoid and frightened. Or when he was a kid, always fearful his drunk uncle would come find him.

No, the truth was, that day was the best he had ever slept. The sweet promise of belonging, of home and family, soothing him into a gentle slumber. And no, he would likely never sleep so soundly ever again.

He couldn't ask or expect his father to give up this life. In fact, it was a life he longed for. Tho the people were somewhat distant to him, he was beginning to wonder if that had more to do with not wanting to frighten him off, rather than them not wanting him around. Even Dutch seemed somewhat regretful.

He was so close to happiness but he couldn't stay.

A sob escaped his lips and he couldn't hold back the several others that followed. His embarrassment spiked as he heard someone coming to sit on one of the crates by the fire.

A few seconds passed before the gentle strumming of a guitar covered his cryes. Eventually, his shuttered cries quieted down enough for him to be able to hear an accented voice singing.

"Pushing forward through the night,"

"aching chest and blurry sight."

"It's so far, so far away."

"It's so far, so far away."

"Cold wind blows into the skin."

"Can't believe the state you're in."

"aching chest and blurry sight."

"aching chest and blurry sight... "

Isaac teared up as he listened. The words giving him permission to let go and cry. And so, covered by the sound of guitar strings, he did. All he could think was how much he needed this, a family, his family. And all he needed to keep them was the proof held in the custody of federal agents.

* * *

Arthur jolted awake by the urgency in Charle's voice but his mind was still too sleep muddled to make out what had been said. "sorry wha-"

"It's Isaac, he's gone." Charles said pressing a piece of paper in front of his blurry eyes.

'Gone to get proof -Isaac M.'

Arthur froze lake he'd plunging into a fridged lake.

God damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it. Arthur growled throwing his legs over the edge of his cot and began storming around the camp like a fat angry badger. If there was any proof that Isaac was truly his son it was in the stupidity of going off to rob the FBI on his own. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was going to kill Isaac when he found him.

"Arthur," Hosea called after, him but he was already mounting his horse.

"Charles, do you know what direction?"

Charles kneeled down to examine the earth at his feet. "Perhaps only an hour old." he said straightening up to point down a grassy slope. "It doesn't look like he took the road. Probably hoping the grass would make for a quieter getaway."

"Who was on watch last night?" Arthur seethed, almost biting his own tongue in frustration.

"Bill." Charles offered reluctantly. He obviously didn't want Arthur to do anything rash but he deserved to know.

"Arthur, what's going on?" Hosea hollered again, raising his arm rasing above his head, holding a lamp to ward off the darkness. his tone spiked with uncertainty.

Arthur whipped around, eyes blue and stormy in the lamplight. "My son, ran off to get that damn photo!" And waisting no more time he kicked his horse up into a full-on gallop.

Arthur's heart was in his lungs as they dashed parallel to Isaac's trail. All the while the thought this could be the path that leads to his son's corpse flashed wickedly across his mind. A sudden memory sprang up, playing out like a film behind his eyes. Forcing him to vividly recall a similar trail that lead up to Eliza's and Isaac's home. It was so real. The wooden crosses standing tall in the yard but this time their graves wouldn't be empty.

Arthur was lost as his creative mind plagued him with the graphic details of all the possibilities for what could befall his son. or perhaps, what had already happened.

Would they shoot first? Save themselves the trouble of due process by stringing him up on the nearest tree? or-

"Arthur!" Charles called, and like a spell being broken it shattering the hold his thoughts had over him. "Arthur, we will get him back." and Arthur turned to see the seriousness in Charles's eyes.

Arthur wanted to believe, he needed to believe Charles but as Dutch use to say, he was a doubter. It simply wasn't in his nature to believe.

"Arthur." Charles repeated. "Trust me."

And in that moment he had no other choice. It was either go mad or follow Charles. And so he did the unthinkable, he eased back on the reins and allowed for Charles to take the lead. Soon after he became aware of the thundering of horse hooves directly behind him and, looking back, Arthur saw what the Braithwaites may have seen after they kidnapped Jack. The cavalry was coming.

They road as an army, single-minded in purpose, following Charles and surrounding Arthur. John, Hosea, Sadie, Lenny, Sean, Havier and even Dutch.


	28. Part 3 Chapter 11

A halo of sunlight peeked over the horizon, blanketing the world with a vast array of smoky fluorescent colors. In response, the electrical lights of the city were being shut off to welcome the approaching dawn.

Isaac gave Harlin a comforting pat on the neck as he coxed the weary horse to walk the unfamiliar cobblestone streets of the busy city. Sure, Dutch Van Der Linde had cautioned him to stay away from large cities but Saint-Denis was the most likely place to find the FBI.

Slowly and cautiously, the horse and rider weaved through the waking town. It was certainly the largest city he had ever been to and, if he was being honest with himself, Isaac was finding the tall buildings and narrow roadways to be quite intimidating and claustrophobic. The intermittent soft jingle of trollies was somehow especially eery.

Just around the corner from the police station he dismounted and tried to act casual as he leaned against a cement wall, surveying the building.

The distinctive blue coats of the officers coming in and out set him on edge. He wished he had his father's hat to shield his face from view but no use worrying about that now.

Four men in black suits, very similar to what the FBI could have crossed the street and entered the building. But perhaps they were just businessmen or Pinkertons?

He adjusted his gunbelt nervously and tried to form a plan of action.

Perhaps he should go inside? He could act like his horse had been stolen. Filling a police report would buy him some time to monitor those insides. He could also act like a starry-eyed boy who dreamed of being an FBI agent one day. He could beg to talk to one. That shouldn't be suspicious. Provided they didn't recognize him, that is.

Finally, he pushed away from the wall and began making his way across the street. He was about to step on the curb when someone grabbed at his elbow.

"Sorry lad," Came a cheery Irish accent. "Don't wanna be going in there. Tho judging by the look on your pa face it may be safer."

Isaac looked to his right and was stunned to recognize the man next to him as Sean, from the Van Der Lind gang.

"Oi, what are you doing here?" Isaac asked as Sean pulled them back the way he'd come and Sean let out a hearty laugh.

"Kids today," The Irishmen all but sang, "they think they can waltz into any predicament and all will turn up roses. With narry a thought to what others have to go through for them."

"That's rich coming from you." Another voice said, this time to Isaacs left. Isaac turned to see Charles, tho the man scowled ahead and refused to look directly at him. Isaac felt a twinge of shame as it occurred to him Charles was disappointed in him.

Together Sean and Charles marched him around the concrete half-wall so they were out of sight of the police station. Isaac was about to protest when suddenly he was pulled from Sean's grasp and yanked back around to face the steely glare of Arthur Morgan.

Isaac couldn't help but let out a muffled shout of surprise at facing the frosty glower.

"Shut it," Arthur seethed through his teeth. His hands flexed tightly around Isaac and, looking down, Isaac realized his father was shaking.

Noticing himself, Arthur abruptly let go of Isaac but his hands at his sides still vibrated with unspent energy and emotion. "one more word out of you and so help me god, I will..." Arthur's quiet yet harsh voice trailed off and the man seemed to flounder for what else to say. "I don't need proof." the outlaw finally whispered, catching Isaac off guard.

Isaac watched as the rabid anger from his father seemed to boil off. Evaporating in front of his eyes like moring due in the noonday sun. Arthur's face softened yet still retained his scowled, almost baring his teeth like a beast but his eyes were glossed over with a sheen of unspilt tears.

"I don't need proof." Arthur repeated quietly. "Maybe Dutch does but I don't." Arthur took in a steadying breath and nodded, as tho encouraging himself to go on. "I know who you are." He said simply. "And if you have to leave, then I'm going with you."

Isaac was too dumbfounded to do much more than gawk at the man.

"Well," Arthur spat. "We don't have all day, saddle up!"

The words startled him to action. Leaping onto Harlin's back he found his voice. "Pa, I can't ask you to give up the gang."

"My mind's made up boy." Arthur cast a sideways glance to Isaac and felt the last of the adrenalin leave him as he sighed. "Look, I lost you once. I'm not foolish enough to let it happen again."

They rode out of the city quietly. Arthur and Isaac upfront with a quiet Charles and Sean trailing behind.

As they reached the edge of the city limits Arthur veered off towards a cluster of trees. Isaac followed wordlessly and was surprised to find several other members of the Van Der Linde gang waiting for them. Including Dutch.

"Dutch," Arthur greeted as he dismounted.

"Arthur," Dutch replied somewhat standoffish. Dutch and Hosea stood close to each other but a subtle tension divided them enough to make Isaac think they weren't actually getting along.

Arthur stopped a few feet from them before he took off his hat. "I know you don't trust Micah, hell I don't trust Micah. And there's nothing I can do to prove this isn't part of some grand plan of his. No point in trying to convince you of something even I'm not 100% sure of." he cast a glance back to Isaac before continuing. "But that doesn't matter, Dutch. In every way that matters, he's Isaac."

"Arthur, I'm asking for some faith. I-"

"No." Arthur said flatly and Dutch was stunned into silence for several heartbeats.

"What did you say?" Dutch challenged clenching his teeth as the surrounding gang members hackles rose in response.

Thick tension filled the air as Arthur continued. "I can't put faith in you. not for something like this."

"How can you cast aside 20 years of loyalty like that?" Dutch spat, his voice a raspy growl.

"Because I'm loyal to what matters. He's my family, Dutch. Just as you are but you're the one making me choose." Arthur swallowed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry Dutch, but I think it's time I leave, for good."

Dutch said nothing, there was nothing else to be said.

Arthur turned away, keeping his eyes down as he passed the gang he had called family. He slipped his hat on as he mounted up and when he did his eyes caught sight of Charles.

Like a room so dark no light reflects back, Charles wore a hardened stonefaced expression that let nothing show as to his true feelings... but that in itself showed everything Arthur needed to see. It told Arthur that the mountain of feelings locked and buried behind the well-guarded look was all for him.

Arthur hung his head as a bitter grimace crept on his face. Life would never truly let them be happy, would it?

He pulled back on the reins to turn away when a warm hand came to rest on his leg. Arthur looked down to see Hosea, his smile wobbled momentarily before he tightened his hand. "It makes no sense rushing off without your own provisions, Arthur. Come back to camp and collect your things first. Give us time to say a proper goodbye."


	29. Part 3 Chapter 12

Isaac sat down at the campfire beside Charles and watched him sharpen the head of an arrow. He didn't glance over or acknowledge Isaac in any way. Tho Isaac got the impression Charles wasn't intentionally ignoring him but rather he was just lost to his own worries and thoughts.

"where's, um do you know where Arthur is?" He asked softly, voice cracking with morning disuse.

"He's still talking with Dutch and Hosea."

Isaac nodded as he stood up and made his way over to the horses. Charles followed close behind. Isaac didn't know what else to say so he settled for looking over the condition of his saddle.

Charles remained quiet as he brushed a hand over Harlin's forelock.

Isaac sighed. He didn't want Arthur to give up the life he had built here, with these people, his family. The bond between Charles and Arthur especially.

Isaac watched the other out of the corner of his eye. They hadn't even left camp yet and Charles was already lost and listless. It gnawed at him to know he was responsible for severing whatever existed between them.

Hosea's words echoed in his mind. "If you send this boy away you'll lose Arthur for sure." Looked like Dutch wasn't the only one to lose him.

"Do you know if, Arthur and John were able to find my saddle pad in Annesburg?" Isaac asked trying to distract the man.

"Not sure, I, Kieran should know," Charles replied. "I'll go ask him."

As Charles disappeared Isaac leaned against Harlin. The thoroughbred responded by bringing his head back to lip at Isaacs's new shirt. The one made especially for him by the girls.

"Here's your saddle pad." Kieran said coming up behind him. "would you like me to finish tacking him up for you?" he offered.

"um sure."

Kieran smiled sadly as he removed the saddle. Harlin's ears twitched momentarily before laying back calmly.

"He's a good horse." Kieran commented. An artificial happiness to his voice, obviously trying to cheer Isaac up.

"Yeah he is." was all Isaac could reply.

"If you don't mind me asking. Why were you using this?" Kieran said as he pulled the old blanket off the horse's back.

"The saddle pad got dirty as I was traveling, looking for Arthur." he whispered the last bit. "I took it off and washed it in the river and used the blanket while this was drying. I got arrested before I could swap them back out."

Isaac adjusted the pad on Harlins back as Kieran moved to get the saddle. It was all happening so fast. As soon as they were packed, they'd have to leave. And Isaac just wanted to cling to this place even more.

"Do, do you know if I can get the blanket washed quick before we, um before we leave?"

"Yeah," Charles said from his place against the wagon. The arrowhead he had been sharpening now whittled down to something resembling a pencil. "Shouldn't be a problem, just give it to one of the girls."

Isaac nodded numbly and wandered towards where they should be, all the while Charles ghosted after him. It was possible Charles was just being hypervigilant and overprotective in making sure Isaac couldn't run away again but that didn't account for the man's sudden lackluster energy. Charles usually moved with purpose and intention but now he was a touch slower, his steps a bit heavier, eye-level a smidge lower. It saddened Isaac further to note the same symptoms were mirrored in his father.

Isaac cleared his throat shily as he approached Tilly. "do you need anything Isaac?" She asked. Her sweet accent distracting him from his inquiry.

"Um, yeah, could I get this washed before we leave?." He couldn't help the blush that crept up his face as she smiled softly up at him.

Tilly's smile widened, not mocking him but in a soft kind of way that sent butterflies free in his stomach. "Sure," she said politely. Isaac looked down at the blanket as he felt their hands briefly touch. At the soft contact, he felt his blush deepen.

"Perhaps they are related," He heard Karen mumble, "They certainly have the same type." Isaac was about to make a hasty retreat back to the horses when Mis Grimshaw plucked the blanket from Tilly's grasp.

"Where did you get this?" She demanded, parting the folded fabric to get a better look at it.

"Ah, I'm sorry, it's a blanket I used it as a saddle pad when the other one got dirty."

"Your blanket?" She said and he nodded mutely. "Where did you get it?"

"From home."

She stared at him a moment leaving Isaac to gape in confusion. He became even more confused when a wry smile crossed her lips. "come with me." she ordered, marching off towards the large white tent Dutch lived in. She didn't even announce herself as she barged in, Dutch, Hosea, Arthur and John all in some kind of conference.

"Good evening-" Dutch began cordially but stopped abruptly as Mis Grimshaw unceremoniously dropped the blanket in a pile on the desk.

"You need to have a look at this." she coxed coyly. Bewildered glances were shared by all as Isaac hung back in the doorway with Charles at his side.

Mr. Van Der Linde leaned forward in his chair to better examine the object. "Mis Grimshaw." he sighed, "I really don't have the time for..."

"Oh good grief," she scolded, cutting him off again. " Look, Right here." her bony finger pointing at a warn and frayed corner. "It's been monogrammed with the initials I. M."

Dutch hesitated before shaking his head. "Mis Grimshaw, that could belong to anyone. Initials aren't exclusive."

"I know it COULD belong to anyone but it doesn't, I know because I'm the one who made it." she paused, pulling a corner of fabric closer to Dutch. "And Look closer, this is a patchwork quilt made from the scraps of old vests, coats, and dresses. Vests and coats, I might add, that not only uses to belong to YOU but to Mr. Matthues and Mr. Morgan as well. And the bits of dresses were from myself, Annabel and Bessy. Mr. Van Der Linde, this is a quilt WE made for Eliza... for Isaac.

"yes but-" Dutch began before he was cut off again, this time by Hosea.

"You may be able to argue a few things are coincidental but when you add everything together. Dutch, Think!" Hosea's voice cracked as he leaned forward and pounded his fist on the table in impatient frustration. "Think about how perfectly the boy's story lines up to what could have happened. How does he know names he shouldn't? And even if Micha had coached him, Micah never would have known what Arthur looked like at that age. Their similarities are far too striking for Micah to have just happened upon this boy. But I believe Micah's interest in him is just more proof that he is the real Isaac."

The room fell quiet, everyone letting Hosea's words take root. Slowly Dutch reached out to the blanket and gently ran a hand along a particular floral printed square of fabric, lost to whatever memory the fabric triggered.

Hosea slumped forward tiredly and gingerly reached a hand out to gently shake Dutch from the dazed stooper he had fallen into. "One or two coincidences you may be able to ignore but they are mounting up. You have to face it, Dutch. Even you have to admit this is too much." Hosea took a shaky breath as Dutch finally looked him in the eye." you wanted proof, my friend. Well, this is it."

Nodding stiffly Dutch cleared his throat before turning to fully face Isaac. "It appears I owe you an apology, Mr. Morgan."

The boy felt electric as he looked to Arthur. Isaac's mouth gaped open, speechless to find an easy smile on his father's face and his eyes, soft, calm and kind. "I told you," Arthur said gently beneath the hooded shadow of his hat. "I know who you are. I don't need proof."


	30. Part 3 Chapter 13

Dutch put his arm around young Isaac as he led him out of the tent. "All right everyone!" he called "Gather round." He and Isacc stood on the wood deck of Dutche's tent as Dutch began the impromptu 'welcoming a new member into the gang' speech.

It was all a bit surreal for Arthur but he looked on proudly as Javier and Sean clapped especially loud, showing their support for Isaac. Lenny grinned broadly and his eyes twinkled as he looked at Arthur. In response, Arthur ducked his head and tipped his hat to hide his own wide smile.

John caught him and slapped his back good-naturedly. He mumbled something but Arthur was so overwhelmed, John's words never quite registered in his dazed mind.

It felt like cotton was stuffed in his ears as Uncle shook his hand and passed a celebratory whiskey his way.

When the singing began, Arthur found himself humming and even singing along. They were on the second verse of the Ballad of Odis Miller when Arthur noticed a familiar silhouette walking away from the festivities.

It felt wrong watching Charles leave. Charles who had done so much to help Isaac already. So without hesitation, Arthur padded over to him. "Don't know if anyone told you but we are celebrating tonight, Mr. Smith." He joked.

Charles didn't even look at him. Just stared straight ahead, monitoring the world beyond the camp's firelight. "Someone needs to keep watch."

"Sure but-"

"Go back to the party, Arthur." Charles commanded briskly, cutting him off. His tone was cold, clearly unamused by Arthurs's invitation.

Taken aback, Arthur frowned. "Ah, is everything alright?"

Arthur took careful note of how stiff Charles became at his words. Charles turned to glare at him, shook his head and walked off. Just as Arthur thaught the conversation was over her heard Charles whisper, his voice dripping with disgust. "you were going to leave."

"Well, I had to." Arthur protested. To him, it was the obvious answer, one he figured Charles already understood but apparently not. "I couldn't just leave him. I thought you would have supported my going with him."

Charles spun around, eyes flashing with anger. "You are a fool, Arthur Morgan." Charles growled.

Arthur flinched involuntarily, surprised at the venom behind the words.

Undeterred, Charles continued. "How much protection do you think you would have had if you went off on your own?"

Arthur returned his friend's glare with matched heat. "I would have done everything in my power to keep Isaac safe," Arthur spat, his own temper getting the better of him.

"And who was supposed to keep you safe?" Charles challenged, voice climbing in volume as he clutched the shotgun in his hands. "When the Pinkertons inevitably come breathing down your neck and you sacrifice yourself in exchange for sparing Isaacs's life... who was supposed to keep you safe then?" Charles shout carried over to the fire and several of the gang turned to casually listen in.

Arthur was stunned into silence and Charles's glare intensified, building with each second that Arthur left silent.

Slowly Charles shook his head, his eyes never leaving Arthur's bewildered expression but eventually, his anger drained, replaced by sadness. "I recognize your duty to your son. I respect that... but you never once considered there are those who would give anything to protect you. How could you leave without..." Charles broke off, shaking his head sadly. "Go back to the party," Charles said, sad and resigned. Without waiting for a response he turned to continue the night's patrol.

Arthur could only watch him leave. Confused and saddened by seeing Charles so distant.

* * *

A few days later and things still hadn't improved between him and Charles.

'I didn't want to leave you'. Arthur thought at Charles as he watched the man tend to one of the wagon wheels. 'Leaving the gang was nothing compared to the thought of leaving you behind'.

Arthur scowled to himself. 'No, that's not what he should say.' Frown deepening, Arthur had no idea what to say or how to make things better. He just wanted Charles back.

Arthur shivered as he pushed himself up from where he sat by the fire. As he passed Charles, he bid a gentle and hesitant good morning but received nothing but fridged silence in exchange. Arthur cringed as he contemplated the wall that had somehow formed between them.

It made him feel sick with worry as Charles suddenly became so closed off. For the most part, Charles still treated Arthur fairly, like any other gang member... but that was the problem. Arthur didn't want to be an acquaintance, he wanted to matter more because Charles mattered more to him than that.

But somehow that was broken, lost like a message in a bottle at sea.

All he knew is he needed space. Some time away to think things through, clear his head, and figure things out.

"How about you and I take a little trip?" Arthur offered, walking up behind Isaac as he chatted amicably with Tilly, Sean, and Karen.

"Sure pa." The boy agreed happily.

It was only mildly surprising to Arthur he didn't mind being called 'pa'. Sure, it wasn't what he was used to but the boy seemed hungry to call him that and Arthur welcomed the title almost as quickly as he had welcomed Isaac.

"Where to?" the boy asked, waving over his shoulder at Tilly and the others, tho Sean and Karen were too engrossed in a lover's quarrel to notice.

"Not sure," Arthur said tipping his cap to Tilly as they left. "How about we figure that out on the way."

They rode quietly, each to their own thoughts as they traveled. The sweet morning breeze and the clip-clop of horse feet below them, calming Arthurs worries considerably.

'Some time away from camp was just what he needed' Arthur thought as they reached the dusty trail and turned westward. They fell into a steady walking pace, both content to stroll lazily to their unknown destination.

"Pa?"

"Yes." Arthur smiled fondly as he responded so naturally to Isaac.

"Do you like Mr. Smith?"

Arthur tried not to choke as his lungs seemed to stop responding. "What makes you say that?" he ventured, holding the reins a bit tighter.

"I'm sheltered pa, not stupid."

"That's up for debate after you tried to rob the FIB and the Saint-Denis police station," Arthur muttered.

"You're changing the subject," Isaac pointed out boldly.

Arthur tried not to fidget under the steely assessing gaze of his son.

"You should have seen Charles worry when he thought you were leaving the gang." the boy said conversationally. "Almost turned the arrowhead he was working on into a toothpick."

Arthur said nothing, he just directed his horse forward a bit faster.

"Pa?" Isaac asked again, tho this time Arthur only bothered to reply with a gunt.

"I think he likes you too."

Tho Arthur tried his best to stifle it, he felt his heart break a little. He found himself looking down at his hands and remained quiet.

"Pa, I know you don't want to talk about it but it's hurting both of you." Isaac stopped his horse and turned directly towards Arthur. "I never wanted to cause any trouble."

"You didn't" Arthur tried to console but Isaac just shook his head.

"I don't know what exactly happened but pa, you need to say something or do something before you lose him forever."

Arthur looked up when he heard Isaac sniffle and was shocked to see his boy with tears in his eyes.

"Pa, if there's one thing I've learned from all this, it's that you need to tell the truth while you can. Ma thought she was doing right by me when she took me away from you but she was wrong. And maybe it wouldn't have changed anything but it never gave me or you the chance to choose for ourselves what we wanted to do." Isaac brushed his hand over his eyes, drying them, and when he looked up, the boy seemed to have grown 10 full years. His eyes seemed darker, richer and held a pearl of wisdom beyond his tender years. "Charles deserves to know how you feel so he can choose for himself what he wants to do."

"I don't know what it's worth to you Isaac," Arthur said seriously. "but I'm proud of you."

New tears appeared in Isaac's eyes but the boy laughed in response.

"You're a good man, Isaac," Arthur said as they moved further up the trail aimlessly.

They rode back into camp several hours later, just as Pearson announced the stew was ready.


	31. Part 3 Chapter 14

Arthur kept an eye on Charles as he dished up.

The big man kept his head down on his own food as he walked away from the entire gang, off to sit in the shadow of a tree on the grass. Charles was always an independent fellow but this felt different. It felt, lonely.

As Arthur approached he didn't bother to quiet his steps and Charles stiffened as he looked up and saw him.

"Mind if I sit?" Arthur asked, ignoring the reaction, and after a heartbeat Charles gestured to the grass beside him.

They ate for a while in uncomfortable silence.

Time stretching thin as Arthur found himself taking smaller and smaller bites just so he could sit with Charles a bit longer.

He shook his head at how cowardly he was being. As long as he kept quiet, Charles was already gone.

"I wanted you with me." He offered quietly, not looking up from his bowl. His words slipping into the inky darkness in front of them.

Charles remained quiet.

"I could have imagined leaving Dutch and Hosea, I was prepared to. But when I realized it meant leaving you, I didn't know how to accept that. I wanted you to come with me, but I couldn't... I... Charles, please say something." Arthur implored, beginning to lose hope his apology would ever be excepted. Fear sparked like a match and Arthur began to consider the possibility that he had ruined their relationship beyond repair. "I-"

"You never once asked." Charles said, his voice, deep and rich. Something broken lay hidden in the simple words but at least Charles was talking to him. "I understand your reasons for leaving. It is important for you to raise your son. I respect that but you never once asked if..." Charles trailed off.

Arthur looked up, shocked. "Are you saying you would have? you would have left Dutch and the gang?"

Charles met his gaze and nodded. "If you had asked, I would have gone with you."

Suddenly Arthur felt very tired. He blinked slowly and shook his head.

"I couldn't ask that of you. I couldn't ask you to put yourself at risk." Arthur whispered hopelessly.

Charles gripped his bowl and furrowed his brow in response. "How would I have been at greater risk with you? Especially anymore at risk than in a gang?" His tone was tight, angry, hurt.

"The gang gives you a chance to rest," Arthur explained. "we have a watch rotation so people can guard the camp while others rest, eat, and sleep. Not to mention it's far more risky traveling with someone who has a five thousand dollar bounty on their head without that kind of support. You have to constantly be on your toes, worried about being hunted by bounty hunters, Pinkertons, and every other kind of lawmen. On top of that there's the money shortage that inevitably happens with fewer people working and jobs become riskier without having someone to guard your back. You slip up one time and there's no one around to break you out of jail before you get the noose."

"You think I don't know that!?" Charles challenged, his voice rasing in anger and in an uncharacteristic show of rage, Charles threw the metal bowl as far as he could. "You think I didn't consider you being out there, virtually on your own? Hunted down, trapped, alone and desperate to save your son. Especially if it's at your own expense?"

Arthur tried to interject something but Charles barreled onward, one finger pointing accusingly at Arthur. "You, Hosea and Dutch continue to spout this nonsense about how the gang is a family but you never once asked us for HELP! A family goes both ways, Arthur!" Charles volume dropped abruptly till he hissed each word. "And I'm FURIOUS Dutch would have let you leave."

Arthur ducked his head in shame as Charles panted angerly into the night air. Charles was right. Even if it was for the right reasons, it was still incredibly dangerous. He should have asked for help but he didn't want to risk anyone, certainly not Charles.

Charles moved closer, interrupting his thoughts by gently lifting Arthur's chin so they made eye contact again. "I'm furious with you because you would have done it." this time his words were not just softer, but more tender. Growing quieter as he continued to speak. "You treat your own life as tho you are expendable, not caring how much you could matter to someone else." They had had this conversation before. It was a lesson Arthur never seemed to learn. And once more he had failed at the lesson of self-worth Charles tried to teach him.

Charles's thumb brushed gently against Arthur's jawline as he continued. "You are more than an enforcer, you're a father, and a gang leader. You have people who depend on you, who care about you, who need you, you're..." and without finishing, Charles leaned in and captured Arthur's lips with his own.

The kiss was gentle, warm and cautious at first. Charles plump lips massaging little gasps out of Arthur as the kiss gradually grew longer and Charles became bolder. Arthur felt a warm tongue press against the seam of his lips, asking for access. Without thinking, Arthur relaxed his jaw and coaxed the foreign tip to enter.

With a gasp of his own, Charles slipped his tongue in and surged forward, knocking Arthur flat against the earth with a grunt that morphed into a moan as warm hands trailed up Arthur's chest and got lost in his hair.

Charles pulled away and Arthur tried to chase after him but the hands that played with his hair held him back. Charles's eyes were dark with hunger as he panted above him. "How many times do I need to tell you?" Charles's voice was low and velvety smooth and as he spoke. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Charles leaned down and pressed himself against the full length of Arthurs's body. Effectively pinning him to the dusty ground.

Arthur was helpless as Charles peppered his face and neck with teasing kisses. "You" kiss "are" kiss "wanted" kiss "needed" Charles gave a slow suck at the perfect juncture between his jaw and neck. The exposed and vulnerable pulse point was abused deliciously and Arthur leaned his head back and trembled against the onslaught lavished upon his neck. "you are loved." he whispered into his ear.

"Charles." Arthur groaned mindlessly under the fervent ministrations of the man above him.

"You never seem to understand how precious you are to others," Charles whispered, low and sad. He leaned back and allowed Arthur some space to catch his breath.

He gave Arthur one last lingering kiss and let his deft fingers tangle in the short hairs at Arthurs's neck before he pulled away completely. Leaving Arthur cold and desperate.

Arthur lay panting for several moments as his brain processed all that had just happened. "You, you love me?" Arthur said breathlessly, turning his head, trying to catch Charles eye.

"Yes." Charles said, looking down as he let out a humorless chuckle.

Arthur rolled over. His hand reaching up to tentatively cup along Charles's jaw and turned the man to fully face him. "I certainly am a fool."

Arthurs's fond smile dropped as he saw a tear slid from the corner of Charles's eyes. Arthur caught it with his thumb as it rolled down his cheek. "Charles." Arthur breathed the name and shook his head as he leaned towards the other man.

Their eyes locked and Arthur sat up straight and pulled Charles so he rested against him. Charles went willingly. Days of stress, exhaustion and worry taking their toll as Charles began to relax at Arthur's side. Arthur gently ran his hand up and down Charles back, soothing and caressing.

"Charles. I'm so sorry." a kiss brushed Charles's cheeks before Arthur continued. "I can be incredibly dense at times. Stupid when it comes to anything that really matters. I, I didn't even realize I was hurting you." Arthur softened his words with another kiss. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

"And I just wanted to do the same." Charles said, his dark eyes twinkling as he looked at Arthur.

Arthur smiled and shook his head. "I always knew I was a fool, I just didn't know how big of one until now."

"You're not a fool, Arthur, not really." Charles disagreed, leaning forward to kiss his cowboy once more. An action that was fast becoming addicting. This time the kiss was chaste and relatively quick. "Arthur, I know the life of an outlaw is short and dangerous but if you can't keep yourself safe for yourself, then do it for me and for Isaac. If you can't believe in yourself, then believe us. You are worth it, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur found himself nodding along to the imploring puppy dog eyes Charles was giving him. "I haven't said it Charles but I really care for you. Love you, actually." Arthur admitted, soft and serious. The words 'I know I ain't worth your tears' were on the tip of his tongue but Arthur caught himself. He needed to quit with the self-deprecating internal dialogue if he was ever going to become the person Charles and Isaac needed him to be. So instead he settled for saying "It may take time but if you'll have me..." but Arthur lost his confidence and trailed off mid-sentence tho Charles just smiled knowingly.

"Oh, Arthur," Charles said when Arthur didn't continue. Charles's warm hand reached up to gently brush a few stray hairs out of Arthur's eyes. "Someday you will learn just how much you are loved."

Without missing a beat, Arthur gave him a quick peck on the lips. "And someday, I will do the same for you."


	32. Epilogue

**THREE YEARS LATER**

Isaac looked down at his father's grave. An engraved wooden cross stuck in the ground surrounded by a ring of stones.

"They would have wanted to be buried next to each other." Isaac said sadly as Tilly came up behind him. She looked down and laced her fingers with his. They stayed quiet for a while, just looking at the two graves that shared a meaningful Bible verse.

**CHARLES SMITH  
**

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,

and death shall be no more,

**ARTHUR MORGAN**

neither shall there be mourning,

nor crying, nor pain anymore,

for the former things have passed away.

Revelations 21:4

"They would have loved it Isaac," Tilly comforted, leaning against him. "It's beautiful."

Isaac nodded saying nothing. Then he looked around to the other graves of the Van Der Linde gang. It made Isaac's heart ache to see the little field so filled of familiar names.

"It's just sad seeing all of them like this," Isaac said softly, adjusting his father's hat.

Tilly patted his arm. "come away Isaac, you'll feel better." He nodded and allowed himself to be pulled back to the little wagon where Sadie and Kieran waited.

The wagon creaked as Isaac slid into the front seat.

A few hours later they rolled into town to pick up some supplies. Isaac and Kieran headed for the general store with a list of provisions, already ordered and ready for pick up under the name Killgore.

As the store clerk gathered their things, Isaac perused the shelves like he was choosing a new horse. He stopped when he found what he was looking for. Honey sticks, the sticks were a beautiful sample of the colors honey came in, ranging from rich amber to sunny gold. He inspected each stick, looking for leaks and imperfections. He mulled over how many he should get. They had a long journey ahead so no less than five, or maybe a dozen? Finally, he just decided to take all of them.

The cashier was friendly, even left his counter to help them load their things in the wagon.

"Say," he said conversationally, hauling a bag of maze over his shoulder. "You hear about that big shipwreck out by Garma? Sank like a rock."

Isaac tried not to fidget and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Kieran stumble a little before catching himself. "um, n-no." the skittish horseman lied.

"Well, apparently it was filled with that outlaw gang, the Van Der Linds. All of um, dead. Can you believe it?"

"No, no I can't" was all Isaac could think to say.

"Apparently they were bound for someplace called Tahiti. Where ever that is. Well anyway, that's one less problem for people to worry about."

Isaac worked silently after that. Tho the store owner didn't seem to notice, he just prattled on endlessly about the local gossip. Isaac nodded and gave the occasional "yeah" and "no" when it seemed appropriate. When they were finished, he thanked the man for his help and sat in the wagon and waited quietly for the girls.

"You ok?" Kieran asked.

Truthfully Isaac felt a bit off-center. It was traumatizing seeing all those he cared about in a field. But he didn't know how to voice it. "I'll be ok," he said and Kieran offered him a warm smile.

Not long after that the girls came back, each with their arms full of supplies.

"Pain in the ass store clerk wanted to know if my husband approved of me buyin all this." Sadie griped. "Wish I cuda pistol-whipped him," she mumbled, earning a smile from Isaac as they moved out of town.

They traveled together for weeks, rolling along winding roads and watched as the leaves changed and fell. All the while knowing they still had miles and miles to go.

One particularly miserable night Isaac surprised Tilly with a bouche of honey sticks.

"Pa told me once you loved um. That you couldn't get enough." He said shily.

"yes, I do Isaac. Thank you." she said with a smile. Isaac blushed to his ears when she leaned in to give him a light peck on the cheek. "goodnight." she whispered as she turned and disappeared into the girl's tent.

Isaac was still smiling like a fool as he laid out his bedroll, readying for bed. If Kieran noticed his fixed stupid grin he was kind enough not to say anything.

That night Isaac was restless and got very little sleep. To many thoughts racing through his mind. But prepared or not, the light of dawn crept down through the tree branches in streams of golden light.

He yawned as he climbed into the wagon but Tilly grabbed the reins first. "Why don't you let me drive?" she said, and without waiting for a responce she flicked the straps and the wagon lurched forward.

It was another few weeks yet till they found themselves on the well-know roads leading home. Their long journey almost over.

Eventually, after months of travel, the rickety wagon rolled up to their farm.

"Welcome back." Hosea called from his place leaning against a tree, book propped open on his lap as he enjoyed the unusually warm autumn day.

"Yeah, it's good to be back." Isaac said smiling. Hosea got up and trailed after them as they drove the wagon to the front of the house.

"How'd it go?" Hosea asked, in his usual nonchalant worried way. "any troubles?"

Isaac laughed, "you sound like dad."

"who sounds like me?" Charles called as he walked out the front door onto the porch.

"Hosea, you both like to pretend you aren't worried when you are." Isaac said as he lept off the wagon and dashed up the steps to hug Charles. "You pretend nothing worries you but I think you both worry more than anyone I know."

"Little shit may be right about that." Sean said coming up behind Isaac carrying a sack of rice.

"Little?" Isaac protested, "I'm bigger and taller than you!" he called in mock anger.

"That's 'cause you're built like a brick shit house like your pa." The Irishman said laughing his way into the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Isaac turned back as Charles rested a hand on his shoulder. "You've had a long journey, why don't you go in and rest for a bit. We can handle the unloading."

"And miss seeing Harlin's foul?" Isaac scoffed, walking back to the cart. "Besides, Pa asked me to pick something up for him. You know where he is?" Isaac asked climbing up the side of the wagon to retrieve a small wrapped bundle from the front.

"Not sure." Charles admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"That's alright," Isaac called, waving the package as he ran off into the open field. "I'll find him. See you guys later."

Hosea sighed, "That boy gets more energy every day."

Charles smiled up at him as he lifted a barrel of unmarked supplies. "Was Arthur like at as his age?"

Hosea laughed, "I suppose we all were at one point."

* * *

Isaac watched as Lathlin pranced alongside her mother. Her rose golden revers dapple pattern shown vibrant and glossy in the rays of the high sun. Harlin snorted and munched away, indifferent to the show off foul.

Lathlin pranced like an expert dressage horse. Legs and neck high and proud, a spring in each innocent step. Isaac vowed then and their, that the horse would never know the fear of gunshots.

Isaac laughed as the foul approached him only to dart away again and hide behind the safety of her mother. The young horse then stuck her head out to see if Isaac and Harlin were still there.

"She is a beautiful animal." Dutch marveled softly, coming up behind him. "Looks just like her father."

Isaac nodded but said nothing.

"So, how was your trip?" Dutch said conversationally and perhaps a bit awkward. He held a book in his hands and casually dangled it over the old fence post as he leaned next to Isaac.

"Yeah, it was fine, uneventful," Isaac answered finally as he continued to watch the dancing foul as a long stretch of silence lapsed between them.

"Well, that's good. Did any of the Bell gang members survive the crash?"

Isaac shook his head. It had taken about as much money to buy and sink a boat as it did to buy the land they now lived off of. But filling the boat with greedy O'Driscolls and the last survivors of the Bell gang left they're conscious relatively clean. All the newspapers had picked up the story the following day. Frontpage on every paper. Bound for Tahiti, the notorious Van Der Lind gang had taken over a boat. The scuffle between the sailors and the gang had caused an explosion in the engine room. No survivors. The memorial graves just outside Roads only reinforced the ruse.

Isaac looked down at the fence post, thoughts turning to his mother and how faking her death had ultimately been the plan that saved the Van Der Linde gang. It was as if somehow, even from the grave, his mother was protecting him.

"Well, you've done good work, Isaac. Looks like we are in the clear."

Isaac nodded sadly before turning to look back at Dutch. The man looked over to him, not down at him.

Dutch looked unsure for a moment. Hesitant, as if trying to figure out what Isaac was thinking. But Isaac knew Dutch would never figure it out. Dutch valued loyalty and family but he never understood anything deeper than that. Something like Love. Isaac hated that he felt pity for the man.

"I've got something for Pa," Isaac said instead. "You know where he is?"

"Yeah, last I saw he was giving Jack swimming lessons down by the lake, with John." Isaac couldn't help but smile with Dutch.

"Isaac." Dutch called as he walked away. "I'm glad your back." he said.

Isaac turned to give him a bright genuine smile. In his own way, Dutch wasn't so bad. "Yeah, it's good to be back."

* * *

Isaac and Harlin trotted along the overgrown path out to the lake and from there, followed the shouts and splashes till he reached the two outlaws and teen boy. At first glance, it looked like Arthur was trying to save John from drowning, but after hearing him scream and Jack laughing, Isaac got the impression Arthur was actually trying to drown him.

"Just swim damn you, it ain't that hard." Arthur shouted above the noise of John's frantic splashing. "Kick with your feet! At the water dumbass, not me!"

Jack was doubled over in hysterics as Isaac dismounted.

"Quit flailing, move your arms!" Arthur continued his teachings.

"How can I stop flailing if you want me to move my arms?" John roared in frustration.

"Cause that ain't the same thing! I want you to push out at the water and then back in." after a few seconds the splashing quieted down some and John's expression changed from fearful to surprised and then to the excitement.

"It's working! I'm doing it!" he shouted.

"The hell you are." Arthur chastized. "I'm holding you up!" and to illustrate his point, he let John go.

The splashing immediately resumed and Arthur, frustrated and at the end of his rope, grabbed his brother and hauled him from the shallow lake.

John coughed and gasped on the bank as Jack and Isaac did their best to stifle their laughter.

"You're a bastard," John said between gasps.

"I ain't never pretended to be a saint." Arthur agreed, wringing out the tail of his wet shirt.

Arthur flopped in a soggy heap beside his brother and after a second consideration, he gave John a healthy slap on the back. "If it was any other person I'd say it was plum horrible attempt at swimming, but for you? I think you're getting close to learning the expert swimming stroke called the doggy paddle."

"Shudd up." John growled but without any heat. He opened his mouth to deliver a scathing response of his own when he noticed the newcomer. "Hey Isaac, you just get back?"

"Sure did." he said grinning at the brothers.

"Welcome back," Arthur said, tossing a towel none to gently to John. "How was your trip? They fall for it?"

"Hook line and sinker." He informed them. "It made every front page paper we could find. Um, you asked me to pick this up for you, Pa?" Isaac reminded, wagging the unmarked parcel before he casually handed it over.

Arthur made quick work of the bundle and soon held a small black leather box. Arthur opened it slowly to reveal a red velvet-lined cushion, and pillowed at its center was a beautiful golden Harmonica."

John let out a low whistle as he leaned over Arthur's shoulder to look at the elaborate instrument.

"Saw it is Strawberry years ago, wasn't able to get it at the time and someone else had already bought it before I could go back." Arthur explained, closing the lid with a snap. "I've been looking for it ever since."

"You gunna give that to Dad?" Isaac asked with a Cheshire grin.

"You gunna ask Tilly to marry you?" Arthur countered, smiling as Isaac's face flushed a deep cranberry red.

"Would, would you be my best man if I did?" He asked hesitantly and Arthurs smile dropped for a second before it grew into a wide grin.

"Of course Isaac."

Arthur's chest was tight as Isaac pulled out a ring and passed it around for everyone to see. John, Arthur, and even Jack offered little suggestions of how to pop the question. It was several hours later when they bid each other good night and wandered off to their own homes and rooms.

* * *

When Arthur arrived home, he found Charles had evidently fallen asleep reading on their bed. The soft puffs of breath drew a smile from the cowboy as he carefully leaned over the slumbering man and preceded to gently pluck the open book from Charles's limp hand.

Toeing off his boots, Arthur slowly crept behind his outlawfully wedded husband, cocooning him in a soft warm hug of a big spoon. Arthur was careful not to jostle the bed as he eased into place.

Once settled, Arthur nudged the small leather box into Charles's slackened grasp, replacing where the book had been. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Arthur smiled before nestling his fact down in the pillow of Charles's glossy black hair.

He was teetering on the edge of sleep when Charles mumbled something.

"Wha?" He asked disoriented and sluggish.

Charles hummed in response and lazily stretched his back before twisting in Arthurs's arms to face him.

Arthur closed his eyes as warm lips pressed against his.

"I tried to wait up for you but I guess I fell asleep," Charles admitted sleepily.

This time Arthur answered with a hum of his own. "That's just the way it is sometimes." Arthur murmured softly, brushing a few strands of stray hairs from his lover's eyes. Thinking back on what kept him, Arthur found himself smiling.

"What?" Charles asked curiously, stroking the back of Arthurs's neck in the way that left him purring like a cat.

"Isaac is going to propose to Tilly." Preening like the proud father he was.

"Darn," Charles growled, surprising Arthur. "If he had asked on the trip I would have won 50 bucks off Sadie." Arthur chuckled, brushing Charles's head as he continued. "Tho, Reverand Swanson will be pleased we're having another wedding. What's that now, four or five?"

Arthur yawned "five" as Charles rolled further towards him and nuzzled into his neck.

Sighing in frustration Charles sat up. "hold on, something keeps poking me." Charles stuck his hands under the covers, waving around, fished for whatever was there. Eventually, he withdrew a small black box that must have slipped under Charles as he tossed and turned in an attempt to get himself situated in a more comfortable position.

"Care to explain this?" Charles said, lifting the box and catching Arthurs's mischievous smile.

"It's for you." Arthur said with a dopey grin.

Charles laughed, "I figured that, but what's it for?"

Gentle fingers stroked feather-light touches along Charles's arm as Arthur thought. "Well, when I first saw it, it made me think of you. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get it. I thought it was gone for good but I took a chance and put an ad in the paper. By some miracle, I got a response from the gentleman who originally bought it. And it turns out he was willing to sell it. So when Isaac was out east to fake our deaths, I asked him to pick it up for me."

Charles examined the mysterious leather box until Arthur nudged him impatiently. "Well, open it."

The finely made box slowly clapped open and Charles jaw dropped as he took in the expertly made harmonica. Solid gold engraved with ribbons and leaves, cartwheeling around the entire surface with tightly intricate designs. The handle was detailed with a similar curled leaf/ribbon pattern of dark abalone and rainbow mother of peril inlay. It was breathtaking.

"Arthur." Charles whispered, reverently brushing his fingers along the glossy metal.

"You always say you want me to understand how precious I am to you, well, this is just a small token of it but I want you to know the same."

Charles leaned over and with his empty hand, pulled Arthur up by his collar for a heated kiss. Arthur smiled at Charles's enthusiasm.

"So I take it you like it?" he joked as they parted.

"Very much," Charles said, lifting the instrument to his kiss swollen lips and Arthur couldn't look away as Charles began to play a gentle lullaby. The tone was low and rhythmic, floating through the air, smooth and rich like warm dark chocolate. Kissing his husband's shoulder, Arthur began to sing along.

"The many miles we walked

The many things we learn

The building of the shrine

Only just to burn

That's the way it is

That's the way it is

May the wind be at your back

Good fortunes at your hands

May the cards layout a straight

All from your commands

That's the way it is

That's the way it is.

That's the way it is

That's the way it is."


End file.
